Temptation Pour Deux
by lepetitarsenic
Summary: Hermione, posing as Snape's niece, is spending the summer at Malfoy Manor, the first part of her pact with the family's heir. But Hermione is fast learning things no Malfoy ever suspected. Can Gryffindor's pride survive the summer with Slytherin's prince?
1. one

**Title:** Temptation, Pour Deux

**Author:** AJ Arsenic

**Rating:** PG-13 for now, may get to be R for violence, among other things.

**Pairings:** Draco/Hermione, brief Harry/Ginny and Ron/Fleur, possibly others later.

**Disclaimer:** Owned entirely by J.K Rowling. I'm just here to worship.

**Time:** Takes place in Draco and Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts, after Voldemort has risen again and started to gain more followers.

**Summary:** Draco, Hermione, and the challenges they present to each other may change the very course of history… 

**Reviews:** Please. I'd love constructive criticism if you see something wrong or something I could improve, since this is my first HP fanfic… otherwise my usual policy on reviews is if I don't get any, I don't post anything. So be a responsible reader, eh?

**Note:** This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction… I've read a few others, though not many, and written for various other fandoms. I love HP, so I figured I'd give it a shot-

**Dedicated:** All the Hermione/Draco shippers… and Phoebe (the Evil Muffin), of course.

Chapter One

And So it Begins…

_"Pure ivory and ebony, face of glass and eyes of sea, beautiful I long to be, magic, show the best in me!"_ a distant-looking Hermione Granger heaved a sigh, flicked her wand, and put on as best a Slytherin smirk as she could manage. The charm began to work exactly as it should, her skin turning nearly white, and invisible hands twisting her now black and glossy hair up into an elegant bun. The Gryffindor's high cheekbones grew even more defined, and her eyelashes grew dark and thick, rendering a bit of mystery to her newly green eyes.

            She sighed again, staring back at her far changed reflection in the mirror. If only she could always look like this- beautiful, mysterious, even cold. She looked like she knew what she wanted in life, like she had some purpose… power. She looked like a girl with power. Like Pansy Parkinson, or even more, her older sister Evelyn. She could do great things looking like this… wonderful things. 

But the instant she stepped out of the bathroom the world would know she'd only been using more cosmetic spells. 

In all honesty, she was nothing special. She was smart, yes… but as she remembered telling Harry so many years ago, it was books, and cleverness. She didn't possess any sort of real talent for anything, besides sabotaging any chance at a social life in her feverish pursuit of knowledge. A Muggle girl. Not born into a wizarding family, not even born into a family with wizarding blood. Plain, simple, features, brown eyes and brown hair… just like the rest of the world. 

No, the clever little mudblood Hermione Granger could _never_ be capable of looking this- this-

_            "Beautiful!"_

            Spinning around with a sharp intake of breath, she looked about the prefect's bathroom, quite relieved at not seeing anyone but her 'improved' self. With a quick _finite incantum_ to erase the effects of her spell, she walked in the direction the voice had been coming from- the South wall, near the showers, and put her ear up to the stone, While she could hear voices, the words were frustratingly inaudible-

            "_Maximums Audiem._" she muttered, tapping her wand against the wall lightly, and was instantly rewarded with a voice very familiar to her.  
            Draco Malfoy was on the other side of that wall. 

            _"Of course I've made arrangements, father. Mr. Nott has promised to teach me how to apparate- all safely, of course. No, you're right, it'd be better not to tell mother. As soon as the Dark Lord opens Azkaban she'll have more than enough to worry about, having offered to shelter the Lestranges-"_

            Hermione couldn't help but let out a yelp of surprise at that, instantly covering up her mouth. In another time, she would have cursed herself for being so foolish, but… the Lestranges were among the most loyal and dangerous of Voldemort's followers! And Malfoy -the little scumbag- and his parents were offering shelter for them! It was too bloody much. She listened on.

            _"I'll be home in a week, father… I would be most honored to meet him then. I suppose he'll be glad to have some eyes and ears in Hogwarts… I know he's still not sure of Snape's loyalty. I'm not even sure of his loyalty. Father, I'll have to cut this conversation short- I'll contact you again when I can speak more freely."_

            Hermione gasped, more quietly this time. Malfoy, working directly for Voldemort? Meeting face to face with him? She'd always known he was stuck-up- going on about his 'pure blood' and all that- God only knew how many times she'd had to hold Ron back from punching his face in for her. But this- this went beyond cruelty, beyond bad family ties- she froze, mid-thought, as two ice-cold hands gripped her shoulders roughly.

            "I should have known one of you three would be following me around. Silly me, not thinking to cast an anti-eavesdropping spell…" Malfoy whispered into her ear, chilling her to the bone. She couldn't help but shudder at the steely undertone in the young baritone... he'd grown from the little pillock who liked to drop bugs down the front of older girls robes, and not in a way she liked. Preparing herself for a fight, she spun around, pushed Draco off her, and backed up against the wall, reaching for her wand.

"You little bastard. I- I never wanted to believe it-"

"Oh believe what, Granger?" he sneered, moving closer to her and snatching the wand before she had a chance to raise it. She cursed under her breath, causing him to smirk. "You couldn't believe that students at this school could actually follow- gasp- the Dark Arts? That some of us actually had families that pledged loyalty to Voldemort rather than Dumbledore?" voice dripping with sarcasm, he moved even closer to the now furious girl, laughing as he traced the Gryffindor seal on her robe. Her glare grew even more lethal. "Grow up, mudblood. The entire wizarding world isn't good- barely anything is, anymore. You were always so interested in learning everything about everything- have you ever even thought about it? About what it's like to cast the imperius curse… or how it feels to have some bloody Muggle begging at your-"

"That's enough, Malfoy!" she screeched, slapping away the hand that had been wandering perilously close to her breasts. "Would you use your head for one bleeding second? Think who my friends are- who one of my best friends is. I know evil when I see it, and I know you well enough." her eyes and voice were smoldering now, with rage and a bit of fear. She'd always thought of Draco as essentially harmless- rude, of course, and terrible to Harry, but intelligent enough not to grate on her nerves. As long as she wasn't with her friends. This was an abominably rude awakening.

"There is no good and evil, Granger." he drawled, shocking himself by feeling almost disappointed in her. "There are only two sides, and I happen to be on the one that uses all the resources available. Dumbledore's weak… with his petty morals, his need to be fair and perfect- the world isn't fair, nor perfect Granger, and most wizards don't seem to understand that. But I do. My father does, and Lord Voldemort has mastered the concept. We are only wizards- wizards trying to protect our own. Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same."

"Malfoy, that's not the point-"

"It's exactly the point." he interrupted. "I would have thought you, at least, a somewhat intelligent girl, mudblood that you are, would be able to see the beauty in such power- see that there are two sides to the coin."

"Two sides to the coin?" she fumed, pushing past him and off towards the door, trying to ignore the fact that she didn't entirely disagree. Nearly all the philosophers in the world had, in fact, agreed with him- but what was she thinking? "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to contemplate the Zen of the world, Malfoy- in Azkaban, with your parents." 

The bathroom door quite abruptly slammed in her face, and she spun around again, to find Malfoy twirling her wand in his fingers with a very familiar smirk. She tried to ignore the voices in the back of her head… the voices that told her to go to him, to listen to him- God, when would he ever speak to her again?

"Come here, Hermione." He said, in a voice that made it damn near impossible to refuse. "Take off that Gryffindor robe- let's just be us for a moment, all right?" He slowly slid his robe off his shoulders, allowing it to fall carelessly to the floor. Idly, she wondered if he did that at home- rich boys didn't have to pick up after themselves. Not quite sure why she was complying, she removed her robe as well, folding it up neatly and setting it on the counter. They were both trying very hard to forget that it was summer, and that neither was wearing more than a tight tank top underneath. There were, after all, far more important matters at hand than hormones.

"What's this all about, Malfoy? You can't keep me in here forever- and I don't think even you are quite advanced enough to do a memory charm on me. You're only delaying the inevitable." she told him, trying to sound much more sure than she was. Who knew what he was capable of, or what they taught future Death Eaters at home- Draco only laughed, taking her hand and pulling her on to a bench with him.

"Hermione, when you think of evil, what do you think of?"

"Oh come off it Malfoy, what's the point?"

"Hermione." he pleaded, pale grey eyes seeming to pierce into her train of thought. She wasn't sure whether to shiver or blush. "Just answer my question."

"Don't be a fool. I, and most well likely the rest of the wizarding world, think of… well… Voldemort." she winced at the name. But Harry had made her, Ron, and Ginny swear to use it last year- and he'd been right. It did take from the fear.

"Not me?" he asked, shifting so he could look at her in the eyes. She moved back, becoming a bit uncomfortable at his closeness. And his eyes.

"No, not you. Or- or any of the Slytherins, for that matter. You're only children." she added hastily, not quite able to read the look on his face. She couldn't become too personal in this. God, to think she was sitting here, chatting with some- some_ dark wizard_- but she couldn't tear herself away. There was something- something about the way he was looking at her, the way he seemed to genuinely want to convince her. But why?

"I'm not a Slytherin right now, remember Hermione? And you're not a Gryffindor, either. Ignore the good and evil, remember it doesn't exist, Hermione, and tell me this… do you hate me?"

Her eyes widened at the pure absurdity of the question, her mind still running itself around in furious little circles. Did she hate Malfoy? Oh, she didn't like him, she most certainly did not- but could she hate him? Ignoring Voldemort, as he'd said, could she really bring herself to hate someone for being born into a rich family? Being born on the wrong side, the currently winning side of this war?

Were there two sides? And what was good and evil? She supposed that evil meant death, and good meant life- but life and death for whom? There was a good chance that in the next few years she, Harry, and Ron would be dead. Because of evil. And there was also a good chance that Malfoy, Pansy, and the rest of the Slytherins would be dead because of good. So who was right? Who deserved to live?

There was no answer, was there?

"I don't hate you, Draco." she looked up at him, brown eyes meeting blue, searching for some sort of emotion in that heartbreakingly handsome face. She wanted to know how he felt. Out of all things, wanted to know why he seemed to care. "For some reason, I can't, even after all you've done to Harry, Ron and I over the years-"

"Then tell me, Hermione, why do you so easily hate the Dark Arts?"

"That's completely different Draco, and you know it-"

"No, Hermione, it's exactly the same." he stood, pulling her up to her feet as well, keeping an arm wrapped securely around her waist. She tried to struggle free, but after one good look into his eyes she all but gave up.

"Why are you doing this to me, Malfoy?" she snapped, losing her temper with his games. If he was going to curse her, he should curse her already-

            "Because I expect more out of you, Granger." he replied just as quickly, smirking and leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss. She tried to squirm free but he only held on tighter, as he all but forced her mouth open with his tongue, noting that even as she kissed him back even as she tried to regain control. He tangled a hand in her hair, their mouths still as one, before they both broke free at the same time, her glare only softening slightly. He smirked and she huffed, picking up her robe and flushing a deep shade of red. Draco followed her to the door, slipping his robe on as well.

            "And that- conversation I had with my father, Granger? You won't tell anyone will you? Or do you need more convincing?"

            If Hermione could have used an Unforgivable on anyone, it would have been him, right then and there. Bloody well like him, wasn't it- throw her mind and body into turmoil at the same time, twice the chaos-

            "I won't." she muttered between clenched teeth, still unsure why she was covering for him. But before they'd- well before, anyway, it had begun to make sense to her. His… his theory. She needed to do some serious thinking. And research.

            "Oh, and Hermione?" he said, that ever-present smug tone in his voice growing even stronger. "I'll see you in the Astronomy tower, tomorrow at noon. I know you don't have classes then."

            "Malfoy, I'm not one of your-" he cut her off with another heart-wrenchingly perfect kiss, eyes sparkling with amusement.

            "I'll see you tomorrow… Hermione."


	2. two

"Hermione, how much Grog root were we supposed to put in again?" a very confused Ron Weasley asked his friend, holding the severed plants up and squinting at them. The Prefect glared, snatching them from him, and chopped off a good-sized bit, dropping it in to his cauldron without a word. He stared at her, dead shocked for moment, before coughing nervously.            

"Mione... are you all right?"

"Fine." she muttered, shooting a glare in Malfoy's direction. He seemed not to notice, busy snickering at Lavender's smoking cauldron with his (by all accounts) closest friend, Pansy Parkinson.

"Has that snot-nosed little Slytherin been bothering you?" he asked, following her line of sight. "I'd love a good excuse to hex him again. Been a while-"

"Oh Ron, would you give it a rest?" she exclaimed, a bit too loudly. She flushed bright red as the rest of the class turned to stare at them, before going back to their own cauldrons. Snape narrowed his eyes in their direction, but was a bit busy helping Lavender and Pavrati's keep their jellylegs antidote under control.

"Give what a rest?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Your daily pissing match with Draco. It's getting old." she replied.

"Oh, he's Draco now, is he?" he shot back, his eyes growing cold. Hermione knew him too well, though- she could detect the hint of pain in them, as well. "Whose side are you on, exactly? Playing Devil's Advocate against your best friend?"

"I'm sorry, Ron. It's just childish, juvenile- you're older than that." she said with a sigh, taking and measuring out some black powder for his cauldron by way of an apology. "I've just been having a strange week, allright? Too much Muggle philosophy."

"It's fine." he replied, eyes growing weary. "With Voldemort gaining power, it hasn't been much fun for any of us. You can tell the teachers don't have their hearts in it anymore, and Harry-" he stopped short, glancing back at the Slytherins, who had stopped talking, presumably to listen in on their conversation.

"Tell me later." she whispered, glaring at Malfoy. He smirked at her when Ron had went back to his cauldron, mouthing the words 'twelve o'clock' with a particularly sadistic grin. Turning around to hide the flush that was creeping over her cheeks, she looked at the clock, realizing it was only five minutes to the hour. 

She knew she'd be there, even if deep inside her mind she was trying to convince herself to go to lunch with Ron and Harry and forget the whole bloody mess. But Draco Malfoy was a mystery to her, especially with his recent behavior… and she never could resist a challenge.

            Hermione pushed the old oak door to the Astronomy tower open slowly, half expecting Malfoy to be in there with all of Slytherin house to back him up. She wouldn't put it past him to go through all this trouble just to make a fool out of her- even that kiss- but she wasn't going to think about that. 

            "I knew you'd come." he said, a genuine -for once- grin crossing his face. He was leaning against one of the walls, staring out the window in what he must have thought was a debonair pose. She had to try hard to keep from laughing. "This is one of the only places we can really be alone in the castle…"

"And why exactly do we need to be alone, Draco?" she asked, trying to affect a haughty air. "I hope you know what happened yesterday doesn't mean anything-"

"Oh, but it does." he laughed, making his way through the rows of desks and over to her. "I didn't ask you here to snog, Hermione, as much as I'd love it-" she blushed, and his smile grew even wider- "I came here to ask if you'd thought about my proposition."

"There was a proposition hidden in your oh-so-twisted line between good and evil? I must have missed it amongst all the bull- "

"There was a proposition, Hermione… to see the other side of that coin. I'm giving you the opportunity to experience, first hand, what it's like to be on my side. You can see for yourself where you want to fight after that."

"Oh really, Draco?" she shook her head, mentally berating herself for even entertaining his foolish little fantasy. "And what do you suggest I do? Transfer to Slytherin? I highly doubt that's allowed. And aren't we forgetting entirely that, oh, I don't know… Harry and Ron would kill me? And you, most likely."

"No, you silly girl." he snapped, shaking his head. "Summer vacation is coming up soon… you could come home with me. We could tell our parents we were dating- I've told my father I have a girlfriend. So he wouldn't worry… mostly."

"And what about my blood? Wouldn't he be able to tell I wasn't- pure?" she asked, a hint of venom in her voice. One of the things that she hated most about Malfoy, and Slytherins in general, was their dependency on pure wizard bloodlines.

            "You can't just _tell_, Hermione." he said, growing a bit irritated. "He'd have to know your family lines, and I sincerely doubt he'd care as long as you were pretty enough. Which, my dear-" he smirked- "you certainly are. So are you coming or not?"

            She sighed, moving away from him and walking towards the window. She had nothing else to do this summer- nothing but stay with her Muggle family, back in a Muggle town surrounded by bloody Muggles. She'd never had a problem with it before- but as she grew better as a witch, she wanted increasingly to live around magic, to live _with_ magic. But was it worth it? Would Draco's dark side tempt her? Would she even make it though the summer alive? Who knew what life would be like for a Gryffindor in Death Eater territory.

It was dangerous- very, very dangerous. However she'd hide herself, there was a chance she'd be found- there was no telling what sort of magic the Malfoys used. But it _could_ be worth it. She wanted to do something in her life- not just be one of Harry Potter's sidekicks, and a walking Gryffindor spell encyclopedia. She was more than that. And she could accomplish more. Hermione stole a glance back at Draco, and he only smirked at her, already quite certain she'd be coming. She laughed.

            "Maybe, Malfoy. Maybe."

            And with that, she turned on her heel and briskly walked to the other side of the room, stepping out and shutting the door behind her, still laughing softly to herself. Stunned for only a moment, Draco ran after the amused brunette, jumping down almost an entire flight of stairs to catch up with her.

            "Maybe? What does 'maybe' mean Hermione?" he asked, stepping in front of her. She rolled her eyes.

            "It means what it means! I'm still not sure why you're offering me this… this chance at learning what the other side is like. For all you know, I could feed information back to Dumbledore. He may know about this already-"

            "I know you better than you think, Granger. You may pretend to be some rule-abiding, perfect, prissy little prefect," he said, as if it was the worst insult imaginable, "but I know better. You're not Potter and Weasel's tag along, or a teacher's pet- you've a mind of your own, Hermione. And I think I'm one of the few boys who's not a Weasley, honorary or no, who knows exactly how great a mind that is."

            She paused for a  moment, searching his face for some hint of telling emotion. No boy had ever said anything like that to her before… no person had. But why Draco Malfoy? And why now, after all these years of mutual animosity?

            "So what, Draco… you see me as some sort of challenge? A worthy opponent to your own brilliance?" she asked dryly.

            His eyes sparkled with amusement as he reached out to tuck a strand of no-longer-bushy brown hair behind her ears. She rolled her eyes again as he laughed.

            "Exactly, my dear Muggle, exactly. Ah, but I can't call you Muggle anymore, can I? Because in a week or so, you'll be pure-blooded and perfect."

            "Oh really?" she asked, not even bothering to be offended. "And how are you going to manage that?" He grinned.

"I've got a few ideas."


	3. three

"Ron, did you bring the butterbeer?"

            "Ginny was supposed to bring it!"

            "I thought I was?"

            "No, Harry, we're doing rotations, remember? You had two weeks ago!"

            "Ah, well, no matter. I brought enough, Gin, are you still with us?"

            "Right here Harry! It's a bit dark, though…"

            "Just a minute, _lumos_!"

            The end of Harry Potter's wand tip lit, revealing a good portion of Gryffindor Tower seated in the center of a large, comfortable lounge. Ginny and Harry were curled up together on one of the plush couches, while Ron and Hermione took separate overstuffed armchairs near the fireplace. The eldest of the two reheads pointed his wand at it, and soon the room was toasty warm and dimly lit, vaguely reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room. Vaguely, because there were absolutely no traces of green, silver, blue, or black in their usual meeting place… the prefect's lounge had been made purposely to accommodate all of the houses.

            "We're so lucky you've been made a prefect, 'Mione." Ginny yawned, and stole a sip from her boyfriend's mug of butterbeer, too comfortable to reach across the table for her own. "This room is the only nice place to meet after-hours, you know. None of the other prefects would be out this late."

            "Mmm." Ron agreed, also nearly as content as his sister in the red chair closest to the fire. "Plus, you can take points from all the Slytherins."

            Harry and Ginny laughed, but Hermione strangely didn't find it funny. Was it because of Draco? Or because she was finally beginning to realize that the Slytherins were people too… just with more money? And signficantly better looking, at least in a certain case…

            "Anyway, now that we're all here-" Hermione started, trying to change the subject before her mind ran away with her again. "Harry, Ron said something was up with Voldemort? I figure we're as safe to talk here as we would be any place."

            Harry and Ginny shared a worried look, and the youngest Weasley reached up to run a hand lightly over his scar. He kissed her softly, causing Ron to squirm in his chair a bit, and then turned back to Hermione.

            "Basically, Hermione, it's just the scar again… except it always used to hurt just for a few seconds, or a few minutes at most. Now it's been dully aching for two days or so- makes me think that Voldemort's up to something big. Something so big, he'd have to be killing people left and right himself…"

            "I thought the Death Eaters did most of his dirty work." Ron said, a scowl coming to his face only from talking about it. Ron was on track to be an auror, Hermione knew- he wanted to fight the Death Eaters. He probably hated them more than Voldemort himself. That he always left up to Harry… but Death Eaters were everything that Ron hated in a person. Proud, cruel, spineless and -on the whole- filthy rich.

            "Not all the Death Eaters are as powerful as Voldemort himself." Ginny thought aloud, shivering even in the warmth of the fire and Harry's arms. "Sometimes, when a particularly powerful good witch or wizard comes along, he'll need to take them on himself. Moody told us all about it when he came to dinner last year, remember Ron?"

            "I wasn't paying much attention." he laughed, stretching out on his chair and sipping at his butterbeer. "Mad-eye's all right, but a bit boring in the conversation department, I'm afraid. Sirius, though- he told me he's going to work on getting me a job as a junior auror as soon as I graduate next year."

            "Really? That's wonderful!" Hermione smiled, feeling a rush of pride for her friend. Sirius had been cleared of all charges about a year ago, when Peter Pettigrew revealed himself as a Death Eater in Voldemort's inner circle, and was now working as an auror, tracking Peter and the others down. He'd taken quite a shine to Ron, inviting him (and Ginny) to stay at his house in Scotland with Harry over the summer. She'd been invited as well, but had told him she'd be going home-

            "Going to enjoy your summer with the Muggles, Herm?" Ron asked sympathetically, following her train of thought as close friends often did. "I can't see why you don't just tell your parents you're going to stay with Gin at The Burrow, and come with us-"

            "I want to see them, Ron." Hermione lied, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "They're growing worried about me, I haven't gone home for break in ages-"

            "I understand." Ginny said, looking between the two. "I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't see Mum every once in a while, and don't pretend you're not the same, Ron." The redheaded boy only laughed, grinning at his little sister.

            "I'd say my life would be a good bit easier if I didn't have to face her, Gin. Now it's getting late, what say we all head back home? I know our very own little prefect's got to get some sleep, what with OWL's coming up and all…" Hermione shook her head, holding in a laugh and pretending to look scandalized.

            "Like I'd waste precious studying time with sleep! Ronald Weasley, I thought you knew me better."

            "Oh come on, Hermione." Harry said, helping a very sleepy Ginny to her feet. "We all need some rest. None of you lot should be worrying about Voldemort, anyway."

            "Harry, we're your best friends and girlfriend, respectively." Ginny smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist affectionately. "It's our job to worry about you, and protect you from anything that'd try and harm you."

            Ron nodded, ruffling Harry's hair with a grin, and they headed out of the prefect's common room together, Hermione heading up the rear. She tried to ignore the pang of guilt she felt at Ginny's words- but the youngest Weasley was right. What the hell was she thinking, agreeing to spend the summer with Malfoy? Yes, she wanted very much to know what it was like on the other side, but what would she be sacrificing to satisfy her curiosity? What would she have to do? Cast the imperious curse on a Muggle like her parents? Avada Kendavra, even? Would she be asked to help in a plot against Harry?

            She knew it was wrong, terribly wrong to even consider going with Malfoy, but something about him- about the way he spoke to her, the things he said, made it impossible for her to resist his offer. She didn't want to betray Dumbledore- never mind Ginny, Ron, or most importantly Harry. But what if Draco was right? What if there were only two sides, two separate and equal sides to the war, fighting against each other? And what if she could change things for the better, maybe even help her friends?

            It was a risk she had to take, she decided, steeling herself for whatever questioning emotions she'd be feeling in the months ahead. After all, how hard could it be to simply keep up appearances for a week or so more at school? She had to be strong.

            "Hermione, are you coming?" Ron called from the top of the stairwell, interrupting her thoughts with a familiar cheeky grin. "I swear, I can't leave you anywhere anymore. Someday you're going to find yourself cornered by those bloody Slytherins, and then what are you going to do? Your brains and beauty won't save you from that rubbish, I'm telling you-" he stopped in mid-sentence, sensing the third person who had just appeared at the top of the staircase.

"Mr. Weasley! Miss Granger! What on _Earth_ are you doing here?" Professor McGonagall demanded, sounding scandalized. "Miss Granger, I'm ashamed of you! Prefect and all…"

            "Professor, we were just-"

            "No excuses, Mr. Weasley. I'm afraid I'll have to take fifty points from Gryffindor for this- completely inappropriate- behavior."

            "But Professor!" Hermione exclaimed, sharing a worried look with Ron.

            "Miss Granger, you'll be serving double detention for this. Prefects are supposed to set good examples for other students, not wander the halls with members of the opposite sex late at night! Now, I suggest you two both get off to bed."

            The furious woman headed down the corridor, muttering to herself under her breath. Ron and Hermione shared a look, and both heaved an almost identical-sounding sigh, Hermione joining him at the top of the stairs.

            "Oh, detention is _just_ what I need, so close to OWL's and all." she groaned. Ron put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

            "Don't worry. I'm sure if you're put with McGonagall she'll let you study."

            "She doesn't even want to look me in the eye right now, Ron. I doubt she'd want to have me serve detention under her… ooh, I bet she'll put me with Snape!" 

            He hugged his friend closer to him as the fat lady sleepily let them into the Gryffindor common room, to find a very nervous Harry and Ginny waiting.

            "Ron!" Ginny cried out, looking at the two. "What happened? You didn't stay behind to _snog_ did you? Ew!"

            "Don't be ridiculous, Ginny." Hermione scolded, blushing a furious shade of pink. "I let my mind wander, and we got caught in the halls by Professor McGonagall- I've got double detention next week."

            "We best get to bed, then, before we get into more trouble." Harry said, as usual of late the voice of reason. "We'll see you girls for breakfast." He kissed Ginny goodbye, and he and Ron headed up the stairs towards their dormitory. Hermione started walking up the stairs as well, before realizing she'd lost Ginny.

            "Well, are you coming?" she asked the younger girl, unable to hide the laughter in her voice. Ginny was still standing in the exact same spot Harry had kissed her, a blissful grin on her face. Her head snapped up as soon as Hermione spoke, though, face flushing as red as her hair.

            "I'm sorry, Mione, he's just so… so-" she sighed deeply, gathering up the blanket they'd left their earlier and joining Hermione on the stairs. Hermione laughed all the way up the stairs towards their dormitories.

            "Don't worry, Ginny, I know exactly how you feel." she assured her friend, before she could even think about what she was saying. Ginny blanched.

            "What? Does the ice queen Hermione Granger have a _crush_? I _must_ alert the Daily Prophet! Rita Skeeter will have a field day!"

            "Quiet!" Hermione whispered, furious with herself and slightly paranoid, even though she knew all the other girls were asleep. "I never said anything of the sort, Ginny Weasley, and if you dare tell Harry or Ron one thing-"

            "Don't worry, Mione, you're secret's safe with me!" Ginny said brightly, taking the blanket from her now blushing friend. She threw her arms around the older girl, hugging her happily, before heading into her dormitory, a new spring in her step.

            Watching her for a moment and then heading up another flight of stairs, Hermione shook her head. The whole world seemed to be falling in love these days. Even her.

            And even Draco Malfoy.


	4. four

"Draco, could you pass the salt?" Pansy Parkinson asked, yawning as he handed it to her. "Thanks." she said, pouring a good amount all over her plate and eyeing it with a very obvious look of disgust. "The food here is just awful. If I'd went to Durmstrang like mother had told me to, they'd never try and shove this slop down our throats."

He nodded agreement politely, before hungrily digging into his own plate of scrambled eggs. A part of him could understand Pansy's point… his father had wanted him to go to Durmstrang as well, though his mother had stepped in and told him she wouldn't have it. Mother had loved Hogwarts, and didn't want Draco to feel like they were sending him away. Fat chance of that… he laughed bitterly, taking a sip of butterbeer to chase away all thoughts of home. One of the seventh years had enchanted the Slytherin mugs to serve it at every meal a few weeks back... classic end-of-year behavior, much to his delight.

 He stabbed into his eggs, grinning at Pansy who was still pushing them around her plate. They weren't all that bad, actually… there were so many house-elves here, they had to be doing _something_. Spying Hermione out of the corner of his eye, laughing tiredly at the Gryffindor table, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, remembering her S.P.E.W campaign from a while back. But they were happy, and at the moment he was higher on the food chain… and it was much, much too early to think about those kinds of things.

"Draco, what are you doing this summer?" Crabbe muttered. Actually, Draco was fairly sure he hadn't _meant_ to mutter, but some things couldn't be helped.

"Going home, what else? Father hasn't planned any trips that I'm aware of… and none of your parents should either. You never know when you'll be called." he winced, looking down at the bare spot on his inner forearm, a spot that would soon be scarred for life. Pansy sighed, a hint of worry coming to her eyes.

"It's only our sixth year, Draco… you don't think…"

"I do think." he said firmly, trying to hide his own fear. He didn't want to frighten Pansy any more. "He's growing stronger, and he'll need all the help he can get. What makes you think he wouldn't recruit inside Hogwarts? My father's already set up a meeting with him."

"Oh, Draco." Pansy said, raising a hand to her lips, the usual sick, honey-sweet tone gone from her voice. He knew Pansy had more to her than the airs she'd been putting on lately- they'd known each other practically since birth. "Please, be careful. The Dark Lord knows I'll put myself in his service whenever he calls on me, but I don't think I'm ready now-"

"I'm ready, Pansy." he told her, putting a comforting hand over hers. "And I'll be fine. We're on the winning side, right? There's nothing to worry about."

Comforted, if only slightly, the sixth year Slytherins went about their usual breakfast, failing to notice the fuming brunette Gryffindor burning holes in their backs with her deep brown eyes. 

Hermione flushed bright red in anger, watching Draco as he slid his hand over Pansy's at the Slytherin table, putting on a valiant face. What did he think he was playing at? What now, was he going around recruiting girls to come visit him over the summer? She should have known this was just a trick, that he was only using her-

"What's got you all riled up, Mione?" Ginny asked, interrupting her thoughts. Hermione instantly snapped to attention, willing the red to disappear from her cheeks.

"Oh, it's nothing-"

"Nothing, my arse." Ron said, biting into his eggs, and continuing with his mouth half full. "I saw you looking over at the Slytherin table, Hermione. Now is there something you want to tell us?"

She froze in shock at his words, her mind racing. Did he know? Did they all know? How could they know? She and Draco had been discreet about meeting, not even talking to each other outside of places they knew to be secure- had they used the invisibility cloak? Spied on her? What exactly had they heard? All of it?

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, Ron." she stammered, not meeting his eyes. She tried to tell herself to stay calm, but felt her cheeks heating up anyway. Harry snorted.

"Don't be silly, Hermione. You've changed a lot over the past few years…" he smiled warmly at her, eyes twinkling. "We've all changed, come to think of it."

"So… so you're okay with it?" she asked, eyeing them all thoughtfully. Ron grinned at her.

"Why wouldn't we be okay with it? Never let it be said that the Fearless Foursome isn't up for a new plot to make life hell for the Slytherins- I'd enjoy seeing Malfoy livid one last time before break."

Hermione laughed with the others, playing along. Inwardly she heaved a sigh. Whether it was out of relief or sadness, she couldn't tell.

She wanted to tell the others- the 'Fearless Foursome' as people had come to call them- what she was doing. But half their purpose as a group was to fight to protect Harry and the rest of the wizarding world against Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. She didn't think it would go over well if she told them she was going to spend the summer pretending to be one. She just felt unsafe, leaving for the summer to live a life of danger, and have no one know where she was or why they couldn't contact her.

She just wanted someone she could trust. Someone who would understand being torn between the two worlds… someone who would want to help a young girl in need. Suddenly, it dawned upon her. Severus Snape was the answer to all her problems. 

And she had double detention with him in about eight hours.

"… so, naturally, I want to test Draco's theory out."

"I'm taking her home with me this summer, Professor, to do a little bit of schooling on my side. I'll be getting the dark mark, this year… at least I think… and she'll be able to see exactly what it's like."

Draco and Hermione paused in their account, looking to Professor Snape, who hadn't said a word thus far. His almost-black eyes darted back and forth between the two entirely opposite students… thinking. Calculating. Deciding whether to tell Dumbledore, perhaps? Deciding to kill Malfoy on the spot? Tell Lucius? Or, least likely of all, at least in Hermione's mind- help them. She knew Snape didn't like her, but surely he could respect what they were trying to accomplish. Surely, out of anyone, he'd understand. Finally, he broke eye contact, looking down at his desk and shaking his head.

"You're both very, very foolish."

Hermione and Draco shared a worried look.

"You do realize how difficult it'll be for me to set things in order?"

Draco laughed, relieved, taking Hermione's hand under the table. It sent shivers down her spine… just the miniscule show of affection from him. Draco had always been so cold, to her and everyone else. Was she changing him? 

Was that a good thing?

"So you'll do it, then?" Draco asked, barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

"You can be my niece, Miss Granger… at Durmstrang. Of course, we'll have to fix your looks… brown hair and freckles won't do.  But if I mix the potions, you'll only have to take it once a week. And, of course, the memory charms- we can start working now. Mr. Malfoy, fetch me Slistarch root, and powdered Kurlac… Miss Granger, two rat's tails and a couple dried cockroaches…"


	5. five

"Hello, mother." Draco said, face-to-face with what could only be described as an apparition of Narcissa Malfoy. But it wasn't a ghost, it was only spell… and a very well guarded one at that. There was a tiny bit of dark magic involved, and people had been expressly forbidden to use it inside of Hogwarts.

"Draco, my darling. How have you been?" the woman asked, reaching forward and embracing her son in a hug. She knew he couldn't feel it, but it was comforting to at see his mother's arms around him, all the same.

"Fine, mother, fine. And I've got good news."

"Oh really, dear? Did you finally make top of your class?" she asked, a hopeful light coming to her silvery-gray eyes. He smirked.

"No, mother. But I'm bringing home a girl for you to meet."

"Oh!" she cried. "Even better! A good girl, I trust? I don't know how many girls there are out there worthy enough for my son, especially at Hogwarts-"

"She's from Durmstrang, mother, I don't think you'd know her." he lied, feeling and trying to ignore a bit of heat under his collar. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Not Petra's girl?"

"Pansy's a lovely girl mother, but she's not Hermia. She's brilliant- would have been in Ravenclaw if she'd come here. Or possibly Slytherin. The girl's more ruthless than even me." he laughed self-deprecatingly, trying not to meet his mother's eyes. Fortunately, she seemed to believe him, growing happier with each word he spoke. Oh, would Hermione have fun this summer.

"She sounds absolutely _delightful_ Draco! Your father will be so pleased. We were beginning to worry about you, you know. Now she's pretty, I trust? We wouldn't want to muddy up the family bloodlines, now would we?"

"Of course she's pretty, mother. Like I'd settle for anything less than absolute perfection in a woman." he told her, sticking his nose up in the air like she'd taught him to so many years ago. At least Hermione's beauty he didn't have to lie about.        

"I can't wait to tell your father. A girl from Durmstrang! Perhaps we know her family…?"

"She's Professor Snape's niece, mother. Her parents are dead… he sent her to Durmstrang himself. He knows how terrible Hogwarts is in teaching the Dark Arts, wanted her to grow up right."

"Oh, and Severus is such a wonderful man. I've not a doubt in my mind about the girl, dear. Now you just concentrate on your studies- I'm off to tell your father."

"I love you, mum." he said, genuinely looking into her eyes. She seemed preoccupied.

"Oh, of course dear. Goodbye."

She disappeared. Draco sighed. For what certainly wasn't the first time, he'd flat out lied to his mother. But, for some reason, he felt guilty. 

Hermione in herself should be enough to impress his parents. Beautiful, even if she wasn't exactly the Malfoy definition of beauty… and the most intelligent witch of his generation. Even with Muggle blood, she'd still managed to beat out everyone in Hogwarts for years over. His father should be proud of him, able to convince such a powerful ally to spend some time getting to know their side.

            But… it was always about lies.

            "Have you taken your potion already, Hermione?" Draco asked, staring at her plainly. She glared at him.

            "Of course I have, Draco. Don't treat me like a child." The roots of her hair had already begun to turn black- she'd told her friends she was tired of being mistaken for Ginny Weasley in torchlight. Her eyes, she was going to leave brown until the last minute possible, where they'd decided to change them to green. His father had always had an obsession with eyes, and green was a Slytherin color. 

            It was all about being Slytherin. That was the only way to stay safe. Snape had given Hermione specific instructions on how to act- quiet, but not demure. Death Eaters were not weak, the best of them simply bided their time and spoke when they had something useful to say. He told her not to hide her intelligence, but only to show it when prompted by Lucius himself. He was the first step, the most important one to impress. After him, they'd begin to worry about Voldemort.

            For now, his only worry was her safety. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to show her- or even why he was bothering. But there was something about Hermione Granger that brought something out in him- something he liked. Maybe that was too selfish for 'love'… but he wasn't entirely sure that love existed as people said it did. After all, didn't they say love was how the other person made you feel? And then, naturally, you'd want to protect that feeling and the person it came from. Yes, that was it- he was going to keep her safe. And close to him, as long as he could.

            Narcissa had owed Snape, inviting him to stay in the second month of summer to visit Hermione. He'd accepted, saying he could replenish her potions then, and give her a new one it would take him some time to create in preparation for the Dark Lord.

            Voldemort's plans were not apparent to any of the group, even Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They knew he was planning something- the Death Eaters had been meeting almost once a month, now, carrying out seemingly random tasks and striking random mudblood and Muggle houses.

            Something was happening, Draco thought, feeling a bit lost as he started at Hermione. And they were going to be right in the thick of things.

            "Ninety-nine percent?!" Hermione squealed, jumping out of her seat, the chair clattering to the floor. Ron turned to stare at her, amazed.

            "Good God, Hermione, you've done it again!"

            "Professor Snape! What did I miss on this? I studied for _months_!" she fumed, storming up to his desk and dropping the test. Snape smirked at her, flipping through to pages with a raised eyebrow.

            "Here, Miss Granger. You spelled what was supposed to be _expediosar_, _expedisoan_." He handed the paper back to her. She huffed.

            "My quill slipped! You can't count me off for that! Perfect OWL's… they'll be ruined! It's bloody unfair!"

            The rest of the class was full staring at her now, mouths agape. Never in their six years at Hogwarts had they heard Hermione directly admonish a teacher… even get snappy with one, aside from Trelawney. But she was livid now, her face deathly pale. Snape seemed as surprised as the rest of them… and then he started to laugh.

            "Finally growing a bit of a backbone, eh Miss Granger? Well, that'll come in handy sometime soon, I daresay- you can have your point. And congratulations."

            He took the paper and marked something on the top, going back to the other stack of papers on his desk. For a moment, the rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins sat, stunned into silence. Ron dropped the pencil that had been dangling from his fingers, which seemed to break the silence, students bursting out into frenzied accounts of her triumph. Harry grinned widely at her.

            "That was amazing, 'Mione!"

            "Bloody well amazing! I see you've been taking some of your gall from Ginny, these days-" Hermione blushed, sitting back down in her seat with a satisfied smile. The boys went back to searching their own tests as she lay her head down on the desk. She felt something flick the back of her neck, and she spun around, annoyed. Draco was smiling at her- not smirking, but smiling for the first time she could remember. Sure to keep glaring at him, she reached down and picked up the wad of paper he'd thrown at her. Carefully hiding it in her lap, she scanned the message he'd scrawled.

_Hermione-_

_Pack your things tonight. We leave tomorrow morning, so be sure to say goodbye to Potter and Weasley(s). We don't want them to worry. Come to meet with Snape at __2 AM__ in the potions dungeon to finish up on your glamour._

_Good work on the OWL's. You beat me again._

_-Draco_

            She tucked the note back into her bag, feeling a familiar chill run down her spine. Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning she'd be in the jaws of the beast, and even earlier she'd make her full transformation into a sparkling tooth.

            Watching Ron and Harry shooting spitballs at Pavrati and Lavender, she couldn't help but smile. They'd be safe. She'd make sure they'd be safe this summer. And, that was part of the reason she was going ahead with this foolish plan- right? She was still Hermione Granger, best friend to Harry Potter and honorary member of the Weasley family. Still Muggle-born, still mudblood.

            But she couldn't help but marvel at the changes she'd undergone over the past few weeks. Not only in looks- yes, she did have darker hair and paler skin, though everyone except Ginny had only noticed the former- but in personality. Standing up to Snape was an obvious example, but things went much deeper than that for Hermione. Having someone- a boy- interested in her, even if it _was_ Draco Malfoy, had done her a world of good… she'd stopped hiding out in the Tower, and had stopped keeping her head down at the Gryffindor table.  She'd started to talk more- and not just to correct people. And she'd started to smile.

Even the obligatory hours a day she spent in the library were different- she was reading up on the Dark arts in the restricted section, using the permanent pass she'd been given as a prefect. She was just beginning to learn things that were common knowledge to Draco and the other Slytherins- about history, spells, curses, hexes… they'd been given a cursory knowledge of battle magics, of course, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but nothing like what she'd need to know according to Snape.     

            Snape had been such a blessing. She didn't know what she'd have done without him- his constant prodding, his potions, and his alibi. He'd already contacted Lucius about her, thanking him for letting her stay over the summer. He was a fairly good actor, Snape, or, more appropriately, a liar. For a moment there it almost seemed as if he really did care for her well being.

            She was shook out of her reverie by a bell, the last one of the term, prompting cheers from all of the kids in the classroom. She forced a smile to her face.

            What she had been dreading most was now upon her.


	6. six

Draco walked quickly down the hallway towards the Slytherin tower, unable to hide the spring in his step. Finally, for the first time in his life, he felt, he'd be doing something right- as ironic as it was, something good for another person. He didn't want Hermione to die, and he strongly believed that anyone left on Dumbledore's side of the unavoidable battle stood no chance. Even with Potter. And Hermione was worth saving for much more than her beauty- she could do wonderful things for Voldemort. Crabbe and Goyle were trailing him, a few steps behind as usual, but were quickly overtaken by Millicent and Pansy, who'd stayed behind to give their end-of-year presents to Snape.

            "Draco, who's this new girlfriend my father's told me about?" Pansy asked bluntly, falling into step with him. She'd long since given up any pretense of politeness- all of the Slytherins knew each other too well for that. He sighed, preparing for more lies- she'd have found out sooner or later, but Pansy was the last thing he needed right now.

            "Her name is Hermia Snape-LeFay. She's from Durmstrang- Professor Snape's niece. He had enough sense not to send her here, she's brilliant in battle magics and such."

            Pansy's eyes lit up at that. She held a high respect for her Head of House, as almost all of the Slytherins did. 

            "Well, it sounds like we'll get along just fine then." she said brightly, already having forgotten whatever tinges of jealousy she might have felt. "It'll be wonderful to have some new female company, won't it Millicent?"

            The larger girl nodded, with a small smile. She never spoke much, but Draco knew she had a kind, almost mothering heart inside that- hefty- frame. Pansy was more the organizer of their small group, but it was only because she always needed someone to boss around. Voldemort already had his eye on her, according to Lucius…

            "I'm sure you'll love her- I can only hope my mother's the same. Now come on girls, Vince, Greg- we've got a bit of a celebration to set up."

            "Not hungry, Mione?" Ron asked, eyeing her still full plate of steaming venison. The house elves went all out for the last meal of the term, preparing whatever exotic dishes they could get their hands on (in large quantities). The clinking of silverware was a telltale sign that the students appreciated it- the majority of them, anyway.

            "Not really. I don't know what's wrong with me-"

            "Maybe you're a vegetarian, Mione!" Ginny said brightly. She'd gotten a salad, as she did almost every night, though the house elves had managed to make even that elaborate. In her fourth year she'd declared herself a vegetarian- 'animals are people too', she admonish, to anyone who'd listen. This was usually only Harry, and ever-so-occasionally Ron. She reminded Hermione of herself with the SPEW campaign- foolishly thinking she could change the world on her own.

  
            But really, wasn't that what she was doing now? She assumed that once she'd passed through this summer with Malfoy, she'd have a chance to show him the right side. And he'd cross, and then perhaps others would cross. And Harry would be safe, and Ron, and Ginny, her parents- everyone.

            It was pretentious of her. But just by saving Harry a good few times, she reckoned she'd altered the course of history- at least in the wizarding world. And who was to say she couldn't do it by herself, without Harry's help?

            "I don't think so, Ginny." Harry laughed. "I remember our soon-to-be Head Girl taking an astonishingly large steak on by herself last night."

            "Well I was hungry!" she said, blushing, and failing to mention that Snape had instructed her to eat as much red meat as possible. A few of the potions he'd been giving her were so old they worked better with animal blood, and she'd flatly refused to drink what he'd had in stock in the dungeon, despite his insistence that it was fresh. 

 What was she doing? She couldn't even stand the sight of animal blood, never mind that of a human. And she'd be steeped in it this summer, shedding some herself most likely. And Draco- well, whatever she'd be forced to do, he'd be a hundred times worse off. She'd gathered that the rest of the Death Eaters, and even Voldemort expected a lot out of Lucius Malfoy's son. 

            And she expected a lot of him as well. He needed to protect her that summer- teach her, while watching out for her. Cover for her. Make sure his parents loved her, and make sure they believed that she was who she said she was. It was partly her responsibility, of course- but the brunt of the work would fall upon Draco.

            As her friends stood, she made up her mind to make things as easy for him as possible. She wasn't sure what their relationship was- friends or otherwise, yet- but she was going to support him as best she could.

            She was distracted by a round of cheers down the hallway, and she turned to find a cluster of seventh year Gryffindors, raising a banner towards their end of the hallway. 'Gryffindor Forever!' it read, shouting it at the same time. Ron, Harry and Ginny chanted along with it, and after a moment, she halfheartedly joined in.

            She was changing already.

Hermione blindly felt her way through the poorly lit corridor, careful to stick close to the stone wall. She was feeling lightheaded- had a bit too much butterbeer at the party, most likely. Gryffindor had won the cup this year, after all, and Ron had filled it with butterbeer and chugged it all himself. Thankfully, Harry and Seamus were able to carry him back up to the boy's dormitory, but no one wanted to try and top him after that. The other girls had quickly fallen asleep- funny, the butterbeer seemed to keep her awake. She did feel just a bit shaky, though-

"Hermione?" a sharp voice cut through the darkness, and she blinked, struggling to stand up straight.

"Ish- is that you, Draco?" she asked, quickly cutting the slur out of her voice. It simply wouldn't do to have Draco see her this way, never mind Professor Snape. 

"Who else would it be, this time of night?" he asked dryly, taking her hand and leading her towards the dungeon door. It was ice cold. 

"Not so fast. I need to- collect myself." she said, stopping in front of the door. He sighed, annoyed, and turned to face her, putting one of his ice-cold hands to her forehead. She flinched, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Still scared of me, Hermione?"

"Don't flatter yourself." she said harshly. "Your hand is cold. In fact, you're always cold. It's a bit unnerving."

He stepped closer to her, chiseled featured outlined in the torchlight. His azure eyes seemed to burn, almost twinkle in pleasure. She felt her heart skip.

"Cold, am I?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist as honey-colored eyes met blue. He leaned down to kiss her, his tongue gently (for once) exploring her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck as her ran his hands through her hair, no longer wild and bushy, thanks to Snape's spells. He was gentle with her… gentle, and almost affectionate. His mouth felt warm against hers, dispelling almost all of her reservations. After what seemed like an eternity, he stepped back, looking into her eyes.

            "From tonight on, Hermione, you've got to be Hermia LeFay. I don't want to place you in any danger, and if you can't convince yourself, you've no chance."

            She sighed, burying her face in his chest. She wanted this- wanted him, and wanted the knowledge. She needed to know most of all. 

            "Come then, dear." she said, trying to imitate his conceited smirk. By the look in his eyes, she'd been successful. "We've got a few last-minute adjustments to make."

Draco couldn't help but smile, following her inside the potions dungeon.

"Ah, there you two are." Snape said, greeting them from behind his desk. It was strangely neat, the usual clutter of paper and ingredients having been wiped clean. He walked around to their side of the desk, and if Draco didn't know better, he'd have said he had been fretfully wringing his hands.

            "So this is it." he said, looking at the two. "Tomorrow morning, Miss Granger begins her new life as Miss LeFay. Are you sure that you're ready?"

            "I'm ready." she said, looking to Draco, who nodded. 

            "I have taught you all that I can, Miss Granger, about how you should act when staying with the Malfoys. I mean no offense, Mr. Malfoy, but your family is cruel, and would not welcome a girl with Miss Granger's particular... temperament."

            They'd heard it a hundred times, but it was comforting to hear it again.

            "You must defer to Draco at all times, Miss Granger. Do not even consider trying to match Lucius Malfoy- the thought should not even cross your mind during the time you stay in the manor. It is unthinkable for Malfoy women to stand up to the men, and Lucius has chosen to stand by that particular family tradition."

            Draco winced, mostly because it was true. 

            "Do try and be kind to Mrs. Malfoy. It may be difficult- again, Mr. Malfoy, this is no offense to you- the woman is quite simple. She was, at one time, a great woman- but years under Lucius has beaten all independent thought out of her. If you befriend her, Lucius will know, and it shall bode well for you

You will have to stay with Draco at all times as well, Miss Granger. You are there for him, and no other reason. It is only natural to have a curiosity about things- this they will expect, and tolerate. I daresay Lucius will enjoy having something new and intelligent to control. But, all in all, your purpose there as Hermia LeFay is to make a good impression. Your purpose there as Hermione Granger, I assume, is to observe."

His eyes softened, the older man easily reading the anxiety clearly written across Hermione's face. He looked to Draco, who seemed almost, if not more nervous.

"That's all I can give you in the form of words, then. I hope you will heed my advice. Drink this, Hermione." he said, handing her a very angry-looking bottle of black liquid. Draco eyed it suspiciously, looking up to Snape.

"What is it?"

"A distilled form of the Polyjuice Potion, Draco. To make her look a bit like me… or, more precisely, the women in my family. It shall serve only make the ruse more credible, especially to your parents."

Hermione picked up the bottle, willing her hands not to shake. So this was it? She truly would become Hermia LeFay- a girl training to become a Death Eater. More aptly, Draco Malfoy's girl training to become a Death Eater. Draco's eyes darkened at her hesitation- and something sparked inside of her. He didn't think she would do it. She wasn't sure if he thought she could do it.

She drank. 

Hermione spotted Draco in the Great Hall instantly- he was the only boy there. Absently, she remembered it was about four in the morning- he'd said something about alternate transportation. Right now, though, she was much too tired to think about it. The parties, the potions, the bloody butterbeer… and the shock of waking up with a face full of jet-black hair that morning. Thank God the mirror had still been asleep, she didn't even want to know what she looked like.

"Ready?" he asked as she got within hearing distance. She nodded, unused to the waves of glossy, straight black hair that fell around her face at the slightest movement. He stared at her for a moment, and she scowled.

"What?"

"Nothing, you just-" he couldn't finish, gesturing to her face. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, Draco, I can't look that much like Snape-" he pulled a small hand mirror out of his duffel bag wordlessly. She snickered, supposing he had to keep one nearby in case a hair fell out of place- he was more vain than most girls she knew. She raised it in front of her, fearing the worst- and finding the best. 

"Oh." she breathed, green eyes darting back and forth across a pale ivory face. She was- beautiful. There was simply no other word to describe it. Her skin was smooth and creamy, unfreckled for once in her life… her nose was perfect- slightly pointed, but not too long or too short. She realized with a start that she'd inherited Snape's severe high cheekbones- but on her they were fragile, delicate and feminine. She saw Draco nodding out of the corner of his eye, but it barely registered.

She recognized that face. Recognized it from only a few weeks ago, that morning in the prefect's bathroom, with a few minor changes of course. But this wasn't just Snape. This is what she had been meant to look like.

"You look beautiful." he said quietly, wrapping his arms around her waist, and hugging her close to him. She smiled, still staring into the mirror.

"I know."


	7. seven

"Master Draco, will ye be having anythin ter drink?" a scratchy voice broke through Hermione's daze of sleep, and she sat up with a yawn. The driver, as an afterthought, added, "And milady?"

            "I'll take a vodka and tonic." Draco said, looking at Hermione. She couldn't help but feel a bit awkward- she'd never had a drop of alcohol in her life. Draco seemed to pick up on this, and he turned back towards the fogged glass. "Something light for Hermia, Maxwell- she's still a bit sick from traveling. We should be their presently anyway, if I recognize the country."

            Hermione could see Maxwell's toothy grin through the mirror of the car, and she shivered. The shaggy-haired man laughed.

"Right perceptive, you're gettin, Master Draco." He wheezed. "Soon you'll be drivin this car yourself, I daresay."

"I think not." Hermione interrupted haughtily, to Draco's surprise. He smirked at her, and she smirked back. "I would hope Draco will never have to lower himself to these- _Muggle_- forms of transportation. In fact, if all goes well, we'll both be getting our apparition licenses next year. Of course, _I_ can already apparate- but Uncle Severus said it wouldn't be wise to do so right under that Dumbledore's nose."

Draco's eyes widened as she finished, and her smirk only grew wider. She gave off another yawn, curling her legs up on the car seat and laying her head in Draco's lap. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the lips, and whispered-

"You'll be perfect." 

She was quite enjoying this already. It was like playing a role in a film, or a play, except the stage wasn't two-dimensional. She got to wear beautiful clothes (she'd done a very handy bit of work on her wardrobe with a few charms), and makeup for the first time in her life. And her leading man didn't hurt one bit.

The rest of the car ride passed without event, though Hermione was a bit frightened when Maxwell turned around to give Draco his drink, and her a bit of iced tea… an 'Arnold Palmer', her parents would have called it. He must have been using some sort of spell to steer the limo. 

It seemed to be hours she spent in that bloody car- she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy at the Muggles, without magic. Forced to resort to all kinds of crazy machines to make up for their sad lacking... what was she saying? Method acting was dangerous, to a point.

They entered a valley, lush and green, a silvery mist covering the road in front of them. The car came to a pair of steel iron gates, which quickly parted, and drove on, Draco growing visibly more excited by the second.

"You'll love it, Hermio- Hermia." he gushed, barely forgetting to use her 'new' name, eyes fixated on the fogged window. "I've never seen a house more beautiful-" 

"Nor have I." Maxwell added, glancing back at the sleepy girl. "Well, here we are then, Master, and Miss." Hermione liked the sound of that, and so, apparently, did Draco, for her flashed her a dazzling smile and jumped out of the car, going around to the other side and opening the door for her. She giggled, and took his hand as she stepped out of the car, for the first time laying eyes on Malfoy Manor.

She was first taken aback at the mere size of it. Her head spun, unconsciously calculating how much marble it must have taken to build only what she could see. It looked supernatural in the hazy fog, glowing but not shining. It was long and tall, four stories or more, it seemed, not including the soaring round towers on either end. The top of the house was domed, a sculpture of a man (looking not unlike Draco… or his father, for that matter) with a snake wrapped around his arm, and a sword in the other adorning the pinnacle. 

In front of the house, there was a fountain- nearly as wide as it was tall, creating a wall of foaming water in the middle of the circular driveway. It was a statue of a woman, seated in a high-backed, jewel adorned chair- or more, throne. Her eyes seemed to glitter emerald green, though it could have simply been a trick of the water. She shuddered at the mere feeling of power that emanated from her- and her breath caught in her throat, as two people stepped forward from the great arching stone doorway.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were walking towards her… and smiling.

Narcissa ran forward first, throwing her arms around her son. Lucius followed at a more leisurely pace, embracing Draco after Narcissa had pulled away from him. Draco looked extremely embarrassed, flushing a deep red. After a moment of simple beaming at her son, Narcissa turned to Hermione, a smile lighting up her delicate features.

"Lovely! Oh, my dear, my son has excellent taste." she leaned down and embraced Hermione, much to her dismay. She quickly regained her composure, though, looking to the much older couple.

"Sir, Madam, it's an honor to meet you. I've heard such wonderful things about both of you from Uncle Severus, and… you've been most generous to allow me to stay in your home." she curtsied, looking to the ground, and then looking up into their eyes. To her amusement, she seemed to have passed the test, for Narcissa shrieked in happiness, pulling her son into another apparently embarrassing hug.

"Takes after him, doesn't she?" Lucius muttered under his breath, the closest thing to a warm smile Hermione had ever seen sneaking onto his face. She grinned to herself, and to Draco, as Maxwell came around to the front of the house, levitating the bags next to him.

They all stepped into the foyer of the house, and Hermione paused, looking back to the fountain, and the car. The statue of the woman seemed to glare at her, but it did not matter in the least.

After all, she fit in perfectly.

"Now, dear, I believe the boys have some catching up to do," Narcissa looked over to Lucius and Draco, who were already deep in conversation, "so I'll show you your room. I think you'll like it- it's where I stayed, when I first came to visit."

Hermione nodded, with what she hoped was a sweet sort smile, levitating her bags and following Narcissa up a large, gray stone staircase. She didn't have much experience in being charming… but she was going to try! Maxwell, she noted, had not been allowed past the door. Strange… didn't they have servants in the house?

"Now tell me about Durmstrang, dear." Narcissa said cheerily, guiding Hermione down what seemed like an infinite amount of Slytherin-green hallways. One could get lost in a second in this house… she'd have to get Draco to take her everywhere!

"Well, the school itself is beautiful- a castle. And a real castle, not like that _Hogwarts._" she said airily, ignoring the tinge of guilt she felt at insulting her home. Narcissa laughed.

"Yes, Hogwarts does have a rather - rustic- sort of charm. Do they teach you well there?"

"Oh, of course." she said, with a superior smirk that was quite easy to fake. Fleur Delacour had mastered it. "You can imagine how shocked I was when Draco told me they only teach _Defense_ against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Why, Dark Arts and Potions is my favorite class! I've the highest marks in the school." she bragged on, rattling off the things Viktor had told her about the school, dormitories, and classes… slightly altered for her, of course. She knew their- relationship- would be good for something.

"Dear me, it sounds delightful." Narcissa said when she'd finished, heaving a melancholy sigh. "Makes me almost wish I'd sent Draco there- of course, it's too late for him to switch now. But I'm glad he's met you- I'm sure you'll be a wonderful influence." Changing moods quickly, she flashed Hermione a smile full of dazzling white teeth, as they stopped in front of a door. Now she knew where Draco had gotten it. 

"And here we are." she announced, pushing open a small, rounded stone door with flourish. She seemed to take the job of hostess very seriously- though, of course she would. It was her only job.

The room was larger than any bedroom Hermione had ever seen, a bit bigger than the dormitory she'd been sleeping in only last night. The one she shared with three other girls. It was circular and stonewalled, and, looking out the window, she realized she was at the top of one of the soaring white towers. The floor was covered in soft-looking bleached white sheepskin rugs, and there was a small lit fireplace carved into one of the walls. Next to it sat a stack of fragrant wood, in a small, silver wicker basket. There was a small oblong-shaped door next to that, which she assumed led to a bathroom.

Directly across from the fireplace was the bed, a gauze silver canopy draped over the top. The entire room was done in gray and silver, right down to the inlay on the ivory bedposts. Including the giant wardrobe next to the bed, which seemed to gleam silver. A full-length mirror hung between the wardrobe and the fireplace, conforming to grooves in the wall. The silver it was set in gleamed, as if it had just been polished, and there were jewels, what looked like emeralds, pressed into the silver around the top. Something was written there, as well, in Latin- she'd translate it later. After a moment spent in stunned silence, she allowed herself to breathe.

"It's _lovely_." she whispered, barely able to believe her eyes. Narcissa smiled down at her, relieved. Astonished, Hermione realized she'd been waiting to see if she was used to better. She couldn't even _imagine_ better at the moment.

"I'm so glad you like it, my dear. Now I'm sure you've packed plenty of clothes, but I've taken the liberty of putting some of my old things in the closet- in case you want to please an old married maid." she chuckled, with a sad twinkle in her eyes. For the first time, Hermione felt a twinge of pity for Narcissa Malfoy- she must have been the only woman to live in this manor for years. It must get awfully lonely.

"You're too kind to me, Madam." she said, curtsying again. Narcissa laughed.

"Oh do call me Narcissa, dear- or at least when the boys aren't around. I know you want to make a good impression on Lucius- God knows it was difficult enough to bring old Marcus Malfoy around to liking _me_- I wasn't born into this family, you know." she nervously looked behind her, worried she'd said too much. But Hermione smiled, trying to put her at ease.

"Thank you… Narcissa."

Hermione yawned, and fell back onto the silver featherbed, delighting in the 'whoosh' of the silk and down. After trying on all of Narcissa's old, but beautiful dresses, and cautiously lighting the fireplace, she'd finally decided a good nap was in order. She wasn't quite sure how dinner went at Malfoy Manor- somehow she imagined it was a stiff, formal affair, full of forced conversations and long, stifling silences. That, of course, was before she had met Mrs. Malfoy, who, after some reflection, she'd decided was quite a pleasant woman, if a bit chatty.

She glanced over out the window, still taken aback at the sight of the grounds. Or what grounds she could see. There were no boundaries, as far as she could tell… for all she knew, the Malfoy's property could extend beyond the mist-shrouded mountains that she could barely make out. Her window looked directly out on a small grove, filled with what looked like fruit trees. Perhaps a small apple orchard? She wondered which woman would have thought to plant it- such a humble, yet beautiful thing among so much grandeur. She supposed, as it was for Narcissa, it must have always been slightly depressing for women to live in the house. Though she'd never met a woman who wasn't a Malfoy through marriage, yet- perhaps, and it was a frightening thought, the women were as cold as the men. Most of the men.

Her eyes drifted lazily about the room, settling on the eccentric mirror. They flitted over the inscription, and she squinted, trying to make out the engravement at a distance. Suddenly, it came to her, and she sat up straight.

_May my daughter live in peace. And the daughters after her._

She shivered, and leapt to her feet, flying to the window. Looking over the edge of the balcony, she stared down at the apple trees. They were roughly in the shape of an M. She looked straight down the edge of the house- the wall around the window was smooth, for yards around. There was nothing to climb on to, and nothing to jump down on. 

The door was stone. The walls were stone. With a sinking feeling, she pressed her palm against it- lodestone. No magic could be used inside this room, the power of the stone would absorb it immediately. 

It had been a prison.

As if a rescue from the whirlwind of her frantic thoughts, a knock came at the door, and Hermione shook her head. She quickly fixed her hair- Hermia LeFay would never allow herself to be seen in such a state of disarray.

"Come in." she called. Her now lovely face broke out into a very uncharacteristic grin at seeing Draco, the beloved and familiar smug smile on his face, and she stood and walked to him. He reached out and pulled her closer for a hard kiss, leaving her gasping for breath, and quickly continued past her to the open wardrobe, eyeing the dresses inside.

"My mother's." he acknowledged quietly. She nodded, joining him in front of the ornately carved maple relic.

"Yes, she told me she'd like it if I wore them-" He laughed at that, and turned to face her, eyes sparkling. She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're the first one of them she's allowed to sleep here. And wear her clothes- seems she's taken to you, and in such a short amount of time! But mother always was attracted to beauty…" he trailed off, earnestly looking into her eyes. "You know, I'll never be able to see _you_ with that face, Hermione."

She frowned. He shouldn't be calling her Hermione in this house… wasn't he the first to tell her that she would be Hermia alone for three months? Perhaps his parents had ways to listen in, paintings or mirrors- but no, she was being paranoid. Draco knew this house better than anyone. But what did he mean, her?

"Me how?"

"You're just… different. And I'm not sure if I enjoy it." he sighed, and ran a hand through his soft blonde hair, sitting down on her bed. She sat next to him.

"Enjoy it? Draco, I did this all- these looks, in part for you. I could have made myself look like Pansy Parkinson, and I'm sure your mother would have been just as pleased. Your father even more."

He grimaced, affirming that she had been entirely correct.

"I just miss seeing your face, Hermione. It's the same smile, the same glare- just trapped, in a body I can't recognize." he cupped her face in his hands, suddenly grave. "Promise me you won't change, Hermione Granger. Change your mind, but do not change."

She searched his eyes for any hint of emotion- and found none. Her only clue was the frantic, troubled tone in his voice. What did he mean, change? Was she acting any different? Oh, of course she was… but she was simply playing a part. Just acting, so his parents wouldn't suspect. She needn't stay cold around him did she? Or is that what he wanted? Is he why she was doing this in the first place? 

She swallowed, and nodded.

"I can stay the same, Draco. This face- it means nothing. It's just a ruse to fool your parents. I'm still the same woman inside."

"Girl." he smirked, leaned forward, and roughly captured her mouth in his. Captured was the only way to describe it- he was in control, yes, but she was still there, and still fighting him. After a few blissful moments they pulled away, faces flushed.    

"You still kiss the same." he said smugly, seeming satisfied at last. She rolled her eyes as he stood, and walked towards the door.

"Wear one of my mother's dresses tonight- we're having a lot of people you'll recognize for dinner. Parties here are always a fancy affair, and you'll be expected to make an impression, without your parents." he called over his shoulder, halfway out the door. She jumped to her feet, stopping in front of him and blocking his way out.

"Draco! You can't do this to me- a party, already?"

"You'll be fine, Hermia." he said, eyeing one of the paintings on the wall. She followed his eyes, and nodded slowly. "I'm sure my parents' friends will take to your quite well, they know your uncle."

"If they serve Lord Voldemort, Draco, I'm sure we'll get along quite famously without Uncle Sev's help." she said airily, looking down her nose at him. His smile for her was less genuine, which brought her no small amount of comfort.          

"I'll see you in a few hours."

He leaned down and pressed his frozen lips against hers. They both pulled away quickly, and she returned to the lonely little room.


	8. eight

"Pansy. You look lovely tonight, as always. And- my, do you have another sister I didn't know about, or is that you, Mrs. Parkinson?" Draco bowed, flashing his most charming smile, and Mrs. Parkinson, a plump, flighty-looking blonde woman with piercing hazel eyes, shrieked in delight.

"Oh, Draco! You've grown so much! I remember when you were just a boy-" she wiped an obviously forced tear from her left eye, careful not to smear her makeup. "Now I hear from Pansy you've gotten a girlfriend?"

"Yes, she ought to be down in a moment- a little tired from her trip. You understand, of course- she doesn't mean to be rude."

"Don't be silly, dear, of course not!" Mrs. Parkinson assured him, turning to her daughter. "Why don't you go upstairs and see if she needs any help, Pansy?"

The striking and, up until now, silent teenager gritted her teeth, but smiled brightly at her mother.

"Of course, mother! What a wonderful idea. We'll be down in a moment, Draco."

She walked gracefully over to the stairs, though Draco could see and feel the tension in her shoulders. He had known- and been nearly betrothed- to Pansy far too long. He suspected if Mrs. Parkinson had anything to say about it, 'Hermia' would have been taken care of. But his father was, if one thing, stubborn, and wouldn't be bossed around by any woman, even such a powerful widow as Petra Parkinson.

Thank God.

"Now Draco, my dear," Petra began, moving closer to him as soon as Pansy was out of sight. He wrinkled his nose, overcome by the acrid scent of her perfume… it seemed like she was wearing gallons of it. "This Hermia girl… can she be trusted?"

"Completely, Mrs. Parkinson." He replied, unable to keep the ice out of his tone. She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"Wonderful. And what, if you don't mind me asking, does she have that Pansy doesn't? You know your father would be most pleased if you two were to- come to some sort of agreement." Some woman's voices would have been angry, or disappointed- but Petra Parkinson's was not. She didn't care about Pansy- only about what a marriage of hers could bring the Parkinson family name. She was merely curious about this, it seemed. He breathed.

"I love her." he said, the affirmation sliding easily off his tongue. "This is not some- agreement- we've made. I love her with all of my soul."

He wasn't sure if he was lying. 

Hermione yawned, sitting up in the strange bed and blinking rapidly, her eyes quickly adjusting to the rays of pink sunset streaming through her window. Sighing, she rolled out of bed, pulling the silver curtains shut over the window.

She sat down on the windowsill, allowing the afternoon's strange realization to flood back into her head. But what did it mean? _She_ was not a prisoner- the door was open, after all. But why put her in this room? Was it possible that Narcissa didn't know? Even Lucius, or Draco? But this was their house- wouldn't they know everything about it?

Her heart sank, as she remembered that Draco had voiced his concerns about the mysteries of Malfoy Manor many times to her over the course of the past month. Now, she felt like she'd known him forever- like she knew him better than he knew himself. Which wasn't difficult. Draco hadn't a clue about his family history, beyond the famous bloody war generals his father had lectured him about. He hadn't even known how long the manor had been in the family- she'd always just assumed that the Malfoys had always lived in this house. But what if they hadn't built it? What if the house held secrets that no Malfoy had ever understood?

She couldn't trust Narcissa with her concerns… and what good would it do? Narcissa's head, if well meaning, was far away and gone in the clouds, probably a reason that Lucius had seen fit to marry her. She wouldn't meddle in the affairs of her husband- she had plenty of airs of her own to put on, outfits to choose and makeup to charm, after all. She needed to speak with Draco- or someone, anyone she could come to trust, that wasn't a Malfoy. Someone that could speak to her… objectively.

Her musings were interrupted by a loud, quick rapping at the door. She sprung to her feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. It must be Draco- or Narcissa. Shouldn't the party be starting sometime soon? She turned the silver lock and opened the door, almost instinctively setting her face in a scowl, but managing to maintain her usual pleasantly intelligent smirk.

"Hello." The familiar blonde girl at the door said, sounding quite bored. "I'm Pansy Parkinson. You must be Hermia LeFay."

"So there aren't any suitable boys at Durmstrang, then? What about that Quidditch player, Viktor Krum? Granted, he's rather scruffy, but I'm sure a girl with proper breeding like you could fix him up soon enough-" Pansy chattered on affably, as she'd been doing for the past ten minutes. She'd seemed so relieved for someone to talk to that Hermione couldn't stand to interrupt her.

"Viktor's sweet, but he seemed quite taken with some Muggle girl from Hogwarts. Helen, or something…?" Hermione replied cautiously, careful to keep her expression casual. It was so strange to talk about herself in the third person- and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what Pansy was going to say about her.

"Oh, Hermione Granger." Pansy affirmed, heaving a sigh and pulling the corset she'd forced upon Hermione tighter. The younger girl gasped, but tried very hard to keep a straight face. Hermia LeFay would be quite used to wearing corsets- Snape had even made her pack a few. "She's got potential, I suppose, if it weren't for those buck teeth and freckles- and she is smart, or book smart at least… but all those bloody Gryffindors are the same. Too high and mighty with their morals and their bravery to walk down in the muck among us normal people. Dolts haven't the slightest ideas the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs hate them as much as we do- and who wouldn't? Carrying themselves around like kings- and oh, of course, _precious_ little Harry Potter. Granger follows him around, you know- figures. And that- that- Ron Weasley. Only logical the _special_ ones would stick together."

"What's so special about this Weasley?" Hermione asked, feeling a rush of protectiveness for her friend. Pansy shook her head, a small flush coming to her cheeks that quickly disappeared.

"You're lucky you've never met a Weasley, Hermia- they're just awful! A pureblood wizarding family- one of the most pure- consorting with mudbloods, and studying them, no less! The father, Arthur, is a Muggle maniac. They're dirt poor, too, most likely because of his little obsession."

"That's unfair!" spluttered Hermione, her eyes widening once she'd realized what she'd said. So far, only to blow her chance now-

"I know!" Pansy said, nodding her head furiously. "Poor little Ginny, the only daughter, couldn't even afford dress robes for the Yule Ball. A pureblood family! It's disgusting, really. You're lucky you live among proper people."

Giving one last strong tug on the corset (perhaps a little too strong), Pansy fell back onto the bed, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Much to her dismay, Pansy laughed too, a high, sweet giggle. 

"Oh, dear- I got a little carried away, I suppose. It's not like you need a corset Hermia, like I do- my mum's always telling me to lose weight."

"You're not fat, Pansy." Hermione assured her, pulling a wine-colored halter dress on over her head. She'd planned to wear the most conservative dress in Narcissa's closet- a silvery gray high-necked one, in the back- but all thoughts of looking 'nice' had gone out the window once she'd seen what Pansy was wearing. 

Outfits spoke of power, Pansy had told her, and she needed to look secure enough to stand next to Draco, which took a bit of doing. Surprisingly enough, Pansy didn't seem bitter at all about 'Hermia' dating the Malfoy heir- quite the contrary, in fact. She seemed almost relieved, assuring her 'I'm not sure what you see in him, Hermia, but I suppose it's much the same thing I did. And if you see what I see, dear, then you two should work out. I've always had a bit of a crush on Alec Zabini, anyhow.'

Pansy stood, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her royal blue gown, and running a hand through her hair. She sighed, stepping in front of the jewel-encrusted mirror.

"I've never been good at volumizing charms- bane of my mother's existence. She refuses to do them for me… says I should suffer through being ugly if I'm too stupid to work out a simple cosmetic charm." she sighed, frowning at herself in the mirror. Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the girl- imagining what it must feel like to be told you were ugly all your life, even looking like her.

She stepped behind Pansy in the mirror, drawing her wand and whispering a few words under her breath. The older girl's blonde hair glowed for a moment, and then faded, not stringy and stiff for the first time Hermione could remember. Pansy grinned.

"Oh, you're a love, aren't you? It'll be wonderful having you around." Shocking Hermione nearly out of her skin, Pansy turned around and hugged her, laughing. She couldn't help but smile too.

"Now let's get out of here, shall we? We've got an entrance to make."     

"Draco, old chap!" came a cheerful voice from behind the sixth year, the murmur of the crowd rising slightly in volume as a new family arrived at the party. Draco turned around, to be clapped into an affectionate hug by Alec Zabini, a tall, good-looking, light brown haired Quidditch player, who'd been captain of the Slytherin team before Marcus Flint. Alec had always been a good friend of his- rather like a slightly older brother, as Fred and George Weasley were to Ron. Thankfully, he didn't have their foolish and completely inappropriate sense of humor… but he was good-natured, or at least most of the time. And around girls, who he'd always been especially fond of. 

"Hello, Alec." he said, trying not to let the obvious relief at the boy's appearance in his voice shine through. Mrs. Parkinson had just gone off to get another drink, muttering about the lack of available servants, and with Alec here, she wouldn't have the courage to bother him again. The Zabinis were a very powerful family of dark wizards, more powerful than the Parkinsons, and they did not have the favorable ties that the Parkinsons and Malfoys did. Moreover, Alec was the oldest and most favored child in the Zabini family, closely followed by his younger sister, Blaise. Petra wouldn't dare patronize him the way she did Draco. 

"How's old Hogwarts?" Alec asked, an amused smile crossing his handsome features. "I hear you've found a way to get around the disappointing lack of pureblood girls over there. To be honest, I thought you'd snap Pansy up, but I'm rather glad you didn't, if you get my meaning." he said, winking at the younger boy and grabbing a martini from a passing tray of drinks. Draco grinned.

"School's fine- as well as can be expected, anyway- and Pansy's not really my type. I figure we've got enough blondes in the family, eh?" he lied, watching as Alec downed his drink in one gulp, grimacing. Pansy had been his type- or what he thought was his type, at least, before meeting Hermione. They'd got along quite famously, actually, until she'd gotten a stupid little crush on him.

"True enough, I suppose. Father's approved of Pansy- and me if there _is_ a Pansy and me… how's old Lucius taking this girl? Heidi? Helena?"

"Hermia." Draco corrected. "And my father seems to be fine with it. I think he's just glad I've finally got a steady girlfriend- seems dragging Pansy and Blaise along to family functions wasn't enough for him."

Alec laughed at the mention of his sister's name, and Draco couldn't help but chuckle a little, too. Blaise Zabini was probably the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen- heard of, even. She'd only consented to go places with him occasionally to be seen on his arm, when none of her other paramours were available as escorts. She'd gotten none of her brother's kindness, unfortunately- she did have, though, a surprisingly quick wit, and added a healthy dose of sarcasm to nearly everything she said. She changed dramatically around men she was trying to impress, but Draco was only a little boy to her- albeit a very rich one.

"When am I going to meet this Hermia, then? And where's Pansy?" Alec asked, his eyes scanning the room. Draco shrugged.

"Pansy went up to Hermia's room to introduce herself about twenty minutes ago, and neither have been down since. You know girls, though. They've probably gone through a thousand cosmetic charms already, and changed outfits a few hundred times. I'll be surprised if they get down here before midnight." Draco sincerely hoped they were getting along as well as that- Hermione and Pansy usually hated each other quite passionately, their enmity culminating in an incident in fifth year, where Pansy had been caught snogging in the Astronomy Tower with Weasley by his sister and Potter. Hermione had never forgiven her after that, though she'd patched things up with Weasley easily enough. He trusted Hermione, though, to be civil- Pansy could be very important to her, in the scheme of things.

"Should we go up there? I know your parents wouldn't-" Alec stopped mid-sentence, as a hush came over the crowd. Draco turned to face the staircase, knowing the girls were there- young, single, beautiful women were by far the most important figures in the society of dark wizards, commanding a sort of respect that not even the oldest and most powerful patriarchs could. With the daughters of the Death Eater families alliances were made, and cemented with children. Without them, politics could simply not exist. For without them, passion, and betrayal would lose their fire. Without them, pain would mean nothing... lust and bloodlust would have never existed, and lust and bloodlust were the foundations of the world of a true dark wizard.

The were a perfect contrast, and a perfect match. Pansy's dress was simple- a clean cut, royal blue taffeta halter gown, shimmering in the dim light of the chandelier. A row of small, perfectly cut diamonds shimmered along the neckline of the dress, sewn into the fabric. Each one cost a small fortune in galleons (five times the price of the dress otherwise). Her platinum blonde hair fell in now-perfect waves on her shoulders, giving her face an almost ethereal glow, and complimenting the expensive diamond necklace lying just above her breasts. 

Hermione's dress was of similar cut, but in far different fabric- clinging, stretchy velvet, in a deep burgundy wine that perfectly offset her eyes and hair. Each girl's appearance was flawless, and awe-inspiring… in short, only what was expected of them. Pansy knew this. Hermione didn't, and she was quite taken aback at the approving stares they received, especially from much older women.

"So that's Hermia, huh?" Alec leaned over and whispered to Draco. He nodded, feeling his throat go dry. "You've got good taste, Draco, I'll say that."

He couldn't agree more.


	9. nine

"Hello, darling." Draco smiled, as Hermione and Pansy reached the boys. Alec bowed deeply to the blonde, and she blushed, glancing over at Hermione, and then Draco. So they were courting the old-fashioned way. Excellent. There just wasn't enough of that these days- a little bit of manners would do everyone good.

"Both of you ladies look smashing tonight." Alec said roguishly, winking at them. Draco coughed.

"Where are my manners? Hermia, this is Alec Zabini. Alec, Hermia Snape-LeFay." Alec bent down and kissed her hand, staring into her eyes as was proper, before turning his attentions back to Pansy. Draco inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. If he'd kept his eyes downcast, it would have been a sign of passion, and that- well, that was the last thing he needed. "And I see you've met Pansy."

"Oh, yes!" Hermione said, grinning from ear to ear. "And I'm so glad I have, too. Pansy, darling, we simply must get together sometime- go shopping, perhaps?"

"Ooh! That'd be lovely!" Pansy said, smiling at the two, seeming quite satisfied in Alec's arms, or at least for the moment. "Have you ever been to Milan? They've got the loveliest wizard boutiques-"

While Pansy and Hermione lapsed into a quick discussion about fashion options (they were, after all, girls- what else could they bond about?) Draco allowed his eyes to scan the crowded hall. They wouldn't stay here for the whole night, just until everyone arrived… then they'd go to the dining room for dinner, and the garden for desert. His mother had the night meticulously planned out, and it was his duty, she'd told him, to make sure none of the kids were left behind, snogging in the bushes. Alec elbowed him in the ribs, clearing his throat.

"As fascinating as this is, ladies, would you care for a walk in the gardens? Draco's father has acquired some lovely classic sculptures recently, I've heard-" Hermione's eyes lit up at that, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. It'd give them a chance to get away from all the older women who were eyeing 'Hermia' warily, wondering how they could manipulate her to their gain. And all the older men, who were eyeing her for other reasons.

He hated adults.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, most honored guests!" All heads turned towards Narcissa Malfoy at the top of the staircase, looking quite exquisite in an opulent silver gown, a sheath dress with pearl-coated puffs at the hem. Lucius was standing beside her, in a smart black suit, the diamond-encrusted watch on his right wrist reflecting the light of the chandelier. "Everyone's arrived, and, if it pleases you, we request that you continue to the dining room, in the room to your right." Narcissa gestured in the direction of the dining room, diamond bracelets glittering up and down her arms. She flashed a brilliant smile, and the Malfoys dissapparated on the spot. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Come on, let's go to the garden. We won't be expected at dinner for another forty-five minutes, as custom." He directed mostly towards Hermione, who nodded. The group turned towards the open entrance to the garden almost simultaneously, though something obstructed Pansy's way. She shrieked as a tall, black-haired man, looking in his early twenties, spilled a glass full of red wine directly onto the front of her dress. Hermione could have sworn he'd stepped forward-

"Oh! I'm sorry, Miss." he said, watching her face turn from surprise to sheer horror. She could barely form words.

"My- my dress!" she turned to Hermione, eyes wide. "I'm going to go put it in cold water- spells don't work on this sort of fabric, damn egotistical designers." She muttered. Hermione would ask about that later.

"Do you want me to come help you?" 

"No, no- can I use your room, though?"

"Of course. And feel free to borrow another dress… they're all Narcissa's, anyway. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

Pansy nodded, disapparating before Hermione had even finished the sentence. She turned back to Draco and Alec, the latter who looked distinctly forlorn.

"To the garden, then?" he asked unhappily. They followed him out.

Hermione lazily traced circular patterns on the surface of the fountain, as Draco played with her hair, chatting amicably with Alec about Quidditch. The boys seemed to get along quite well- much like boys she knew. Somehow, she'd always imagined Slytherin dealings to be businesslike and cruel. But she'd been wrong about many Slytherins- including Pansy. Where was Pansy, anyway? She sat up.

"How long has it been?"

"Since what?" Draco asked, looking down at his watch. Hermione frowned.

"Since Pansy went to the bathroom…" Draco blushed.

"Half an hour. But, and no offense, dear, girls have a strange tendency to take forever in the loo… I'd be worried if she didn't."

"Draco, I'm serious. I'm going to go look for her." she stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress. "I'll meet you two at dinner in fifteen minutes."

"_Hermia_," Draco glared, "don't be ridiculous. You don't know your way around the house."

"I think I can find a bathroom easily enough, darling." whe huffed, sticking her nose up in the air. "Alec."

With that, she disapparated, back into a corridor she remembered on the first level of the house. After a minute or two of wandering around, she realized Draco was right- she didn't have the slightest idea where the hell she was going. She wasn't even sure this was the correct corridor. Bloody hell, they all looked the same. She scowled at a painting of a veela, who scowled right back, eyes darkening. Remembering the veelas at the Quidditch cup, she jumped back from the painting, only to hear a loud cough behind her. She spun around again, greeted with another painting, of a more normal-looking woman.

More normal looking than a veela was still not normal.

She had pale skin, but not the sort of pale that normal women could have. It was white, pure white, with tinges of gray- making Hermione suspect the woman was something of a vampire, along with her suspiciously limp-looking black hair. Her eyes were a deep blue, almost gray- like Draco's. Eerily like Draco's, in fact. She wore a deep-cut forest green corset, and that was all that could be seen of her clothing- barring a pendant on a leather cord around her neck, pulsating bright red. She smiled at Hermione, baring her teeth, and confirming her suspicions. She certainly was a vampire, and it was also quite apparent that she was a Malfoy.

"Hello." The painting said, folding her hands in her lap. "You look lost." 

Hermione nodded, stepping closer to the woman and away from the veela.

"I am- it's my first night in the manor." The woman smiled again, causing Hermione to shudder. She thought she could detect a hint of blood on the woman's fangs- though it may have been her imagination.

"Picked up one of the boys, have you? Silly… though I suppose, even the coldest can be loved, if not capable of love themselves. Tell me it isn't that little sod Lucius, though? He had the nerve to try and move me when Marcus died. I was forced to hex him, of course." Hermione's eyes widened.

"You can do magic?" 

"All of us can do magic. We generally cast the spell when we're around the dying age- to ensure that any of our likenesses can at least protect themselves. I, of course, was quite paranoid when I was alive, so I cast it at fifteen. Died six years later."

"Of what?" Hermione asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

"Oh, my family killed me." she said conversationally. "I was becoming a danger to them, you see. They put up a nice statue out front in my memory- could you tell me, pretty one, is it still there?"

            "Yes… it's still there." Hermione replied, understanding now why the face had seemed so familiar. They'd left out the fangs on the statue, though. "I didn't know there was vampire blood in the Malfoy lines… though I could have suspected."

            "Oh, there isn't. My parents made sure of that." she said cheerily, curling her legs up under her on the plush red high-backed chair she'd been painted in. "I was bitten when I was fourteen. Naughty little girl, you see, hanging around with the wrong kind of boys- much like yourself, it seems."

            "What's your name?" she asked. "I'm Hermia… Hermia LeFay."

            "LeFay, eh? Strong name, for such a sweet girl… my name, of course, is Malfoy… but my given name is Carden."

            Hermione coughed, growing uncomfortable under the vampire's gaze. She couldn't be sure if she was imagining the hunger in her eyes. "Carden, have- have you seen another girl around here? Blonde, very pretty… with blue eyes?"

            "Ah! Yes, I have, dear… she was with a man. Didn't seem quite happy about it, either. They're just down the hall." she pointed to her left, and smiled again. "Doing what, I won't get into details. Ah, how I miss-"

            Hermione raced down the hall before Carden could finish, stopping short in front of the oak-paneled door. She froze. Was it really her right to intrude? What if Pansy-

            She never could finish her thought. For right as she pulled out her wand to unlock the door, a piercing scream rang out through the corridor. 

Pansy Parkinson's.


	10. ten

It all happened in a matter of seconds.

Hermione forced the door open, expecting to find Pansy dead, or worse. Finally, it seemed, her suspicions about doing something as dismally stupid as going undercover among bunch of Slytherins had been confirmed. She held her wand in front of her, reflexes tense, quite ready to curse whoever or whatever she saw. What she did see, though, stunned her beyond her most horrific imaginings. Pansy was locked in a quite passionate embrace with the man that had spilled wine upon her earlier, and they both looked up as the man pulled away from kissing her neck. Hermione's eyes went wide.

"Hermia!" Pansy shrieked, re-adjusting her dress. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her blue eyes piercing daggers into the other girl. Hermione shook her head in disbelief.

"I- I heard you scream." she stuttered, slipping her wand back into her robes. Pansy blushed a deep shade of red.

"Well, as you can see, I'm quite fine-"

"Who are you?" Hermione directed towards the man Pansy had been with, surprised at her own rudeness. He seemed to be unaffected by it.

"Adrian Alston." He said with a smile, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. He must have been, upon reflection, far older than she had at first thought he was- his hands were wrinkled, calloused with work. His face at first glance seemed kind- innocent, almost, with wide blue eyes. But upon closer inspection they held a crueler tint, one Hermione did not want to explore. She shuddered, strangely revolted by his touch. 

"And what about Alec, Pansy?" she asked, turning towards the girl she thought she'd begun a friendship with- it seemed Pansy was far different from what she'd thought. She should have known never to trust the Slytherin girl.

"Oh, Alec is just a child, with a puppy love crush on me-"

"He's older than you-"

"And that is entirely irrelevant, Hermia." Pansy finished harshly. "Now if you've nothing else to say to me, could you give us some time alone? I'll be up to dinner in a few minutes."

Hermione nodded, too stunned to reply, and backed out the door to the study. What- what was going on? Why would Pansy betray Alec… with a much older man, no less? It just didn't make sense. She sighed, slumping down against one of the walls in the corridor. She was stupid to have thought that the Slytherins were like other kids their age- stupid to believe Draco when he said his friends were not much different from her own. She could be in Scotland right now, with Ginny and Harry and Ron… she crossly wiped a hot tear away from her cheek, shaking her head when it came away black. Pansy had insisted on using the kind of makeup that smeared- she said it made mysterious looking rings under one's eyes. How could she have been so wrong?

"What's the matter, child?" came a rasping voice from above her. She turned and looked up, to find she had collapsed under Carden's painting. She shook her head.

"I'm afraid- I'm afraid I can't tell you." She said softly, sinking to her knees. Carden smiled, baring her fangs again.

"Whyever not? Do you think I'd have anyone to tell? I know, dear child, you're not the type- and truly, neither was I."

"Not the type?" Hermione asked, her eyes beginning to clear. The slightly older woman shook her head, rearranging herself on her chair.

"I, of course, was born into the family… but when I was bitten at fourteen, they disowned me quicker than I ever could have expected. It had happened before, you know- being bitten and not killed- and many families simply sent their children to the containment ward at St. Mungo's. Lord, it was an awful place! They fed them blood from banks, and it drove them so mad they were forced to bite each other. But most families didn't have the heart to kill their loved ones." she sighed, her eyes growing dim. "Neither did mine, sadly, and I forever wish they had."

"You wanted to die?" Hermione asked. 

"Let me finish, dear. I can sense you're rather quick- quicker than most girls that have passed through here, at any rate- though I'm not sure how much you know about vampires. Very little, I suppose- all the 'factual information' on us these days is mostly myth. Stakes, garlic, crosses… all untrue. The only way to kill a vampire is to decapitate it, which is what my family did… or my cousin, rather.

My cousin's name was Parkinson, and our families were very close. I do believe the girl that passed held a bit of him in her…" at Hermione's nod, she sighed. "So the bastard did live, I see. It was my cousin who bit me- he was a vampire first. He was older than me, but only slightly, and I wanted so badly to be one of his contemporaries- they had formed a group, him and his friends- Nott, Zabini, Crabbe… I remember them all. I thought them so brave, at the time- cunning, ruthless, and powerful- everything the Malfoy name stood for. He was the pride and joy of our two families, the heir, and favorite son."

With a nostalgic sigh, she settled herself on the chair, wrapping a black cloak around her thin shoulders. She spoke as if she hadn't spoken to someone for years…

"He was bitten at twenty-three… by a woman, no less, which was forever his shame. He easily hid it from our family- they were well used to him being out nights and bringing home girls they never saw again in the morning. His lifestyle seemed no different. He would only bite women, weakling that he was…. his friends knew of his condition, and helped him to lure them in. Not that they needed him. They stuck by him partly through fear, and partly through willingness to be near power. My cousin was strong, evil and brilliant- everything they could have wanted in a leader.

He had always held an unnatural fascination with me, one my parents and his parents found quite disturbing. They tried to keep us apart as much as possible… though even they could not control him, in the end." Her eyes grew distant at that, a look that reminded Hermione faintly of Moaning Myrtle. "He came for me in the night- All Hollow's Eve, in fact… poetic, no? He said he was going to take me to a ritual that they were performing- a dark magic ritual, to impress his father. I agreed readily. Nothing meant more to me than the approval of my own father.

I trusted him. I trusted him even in the darkness of the forest, even alone, even where no one could hear my screams. And he bit me- took my life, and my innocence. If, dear child, you've ever heard the myth that we lose our souls when we become vampires- it is quite untrue. It may be easier for a Malfoy to kill to feed themselves- we are ruthless as it is, or so the story goes. Perhaps, dear child, the killing alone would not have driven me mad- were it not for my father.

When I returned, I was bleeding profusely, bite marks on my neck. My parents had surmised where I had gone, and they knew that I had been bitten- they never, though, had the stomach to suspect my cousin. They thought he had taken me somewhere dangerous where I had been bitten by my own foolishness, never that he could have bitten me himself. He was their golden nephew, after all. The future of our two families. I dared not disagree. I dared not protest. My father wouldn't even look at me.

They fashioned a room, up in the highest tower of the house. It had formerly been an observatory, but they turned it into a prison- fashioned new walls of lodestone, took my wand, and made it quite impossible for me to escape. Every week they would bring me a peasant- a Muggle, from the town near the manor. That was my only source of nourishment, and I soon grew far too weak to even dream of escaping, or revenge.

My father brought a painter in, to make a new portrait of me. He would have liked to pretend I didn't exist, but far too many knew of me, and it meant my likeness needed to join the hall of my family, even in my state. I waited until the painter was done with my portrait before feeding off him- I suppose my father had never thought of that. Thus I escaped, weak though I was, using his wand and what little strength I had. 

I had cast the spell for any of my likenesses to be able to protect themselves years ago. I knew I would live on, somehow." she laughed. "You cannot imagine the look on my father's face when I appeared at the top of the staircase- though it was nothing to match the once-handsome face of my cousin. Another day I could have fought him- when I was not so weak. But he killed me, Hermia, and my soul flew to this painting. For I cast another spell that day. I cursed myself, in that whoever wished to could revive me, back into my former body. I see that it is hopeless now- but I am glad of my consciousness. Glad of this half-life. For it is better than hell, where any vampire would go." Her voice was almost cheery at that point.

The two radically different women sat in silence for a moment, Carden contemplative, and Hermione stunned. The latter wasn't surprised to feel tears well up in her eyes- Lord, the unfairness of it all. To be a woman, and to live among such evil- to be a simple girl, and be known as part of that evil. To feel evil inside of you, to feel it as you fed on other lives, no matter how much you despised them… she buried her head in her hands, resting in on her knees, unable to think further. She heard Carden sigh.

"Do not cry, my dear. Brown eyes look awful tinged with red."

Hermione sat up straight.

"Brown eyes?"

The vampire laughed, stretching out on the chair with an indulgent yawn.

"Of course. I do still have powerful magic, you know? It is quite simple to see into your soul, Miss Hermione Granger, though there are certain parts of your story I yet long to know. Will you share it with me?"

"Er- Miss Malfoy- I'm afraid I can't-"

"Carden- and don't be silly, dear girl. I shan't tell a soul. Who would ask, anyway? If you do duly wish for the secret to be kept- perhaps you can make me Secret-Keeper?" Hermione's eyes widened. Could she trust this woman? She was a Malfoy, and a vampire no less- she could have made up every word she'd spoken in the past few minutes. But she couldn't believe that, no matter how skeptical she tried to force herself to be. Carden had to be telling the truth. She was perfect, but not too good to be true. Perfect indeed.

"Get comfortable." Hermione said, with a deep sigh. She slid down against the wall, shivering at the feeling of the rough plaster against her bare back. "This will probably take a long time."


	11. eleven

See chapter one for disclaimers etc.

"Where _are_ they?" Draco hissed, looking towards the door and back to Alec. He was livid, eyes flashing blue and silver with rage. If she didn't show up _right_ now, everything would be lost. If she was discovered… his parents would disown him, she'd be killed or worse and his family's honor would never be the same. Alec put a hand on his shoulder, noting his tension.

"Calm down, Draco. They're girls. They're probably off giggling over a flower or somesuch. Or staring at themselves in the mirror. I do rather fancy Pansy, but I understand women- there's far more important things to them than politics."

"You don't understand, Alec." Draco scowled, taking a sip of champagne. The woman sitting next to him gave him a disapproving glare, and he snorted. "This is Hermia's chance to make a good impression on my parents. Pansy will be forgiven of course, but unless she acts perfect tonight, we'll be watched the entire time she's here. My parents don't forget shortcomings easily, as I'm sure you remember."

Alec smiled wryly, recalling the many times he'd heard Draco's father berating his son while he was distracted by Narcissa in another room. His own parents were much too busy to bother themselves with him, but he understood Draco's lifestyle far better than any of the other boys he'd met

"Well we can't go looking for them, Draco. If we leave so soon before-" he stopped short as the volume of whispers in the grand dining room changed again, and their eyes both flew to the door. Hermione was walking towards them, and while she looked slightly disturbed, nothing much seemed to be out of the ordinary. Thankfully, the dinner guests turned back towards their conversations, and Alec stood so Hermione could sit next to Draco.

"Where's Pansy?" the older boy asked. She opened her mouth to try and explain, but was cut off by a piercing ringing noise echoing from the head of the table. The three watched as Narcissa set her champagne glass back down on the table, and stepped deferentially behind her husband as he began to speak. And, after a few moments, all three sank into separate, but equally worried thoughts, ignoring the drone of pleasantries and thinly veiled threats coming from one of their number's father. Draco and Alec were used to it. And Hermione was growing more and more by the day.

All throughout dinner, Hermione, Alex, and Draco could barely say a word to each other. Hermione was far too afraid that she'd let something slip if she opened her mouth before she decided what to do, and the boys on either side of her were being constantly pestered by the adults sitting next to them. Hermione thought it quite odd- and amusing, really- how the adults treated the children. It seemed that the Death Eaters had a keener grasp of the balance of power than any adults she'd ever met. They knew who would be in control in five years, or ten. Not them. Their children, and the children of their friends. And power here was everything.

Perhaps it wasn't too terrible a way to live. You could be secure. Everyone seemed to know their place, and hold to it, really. It wasn't as if there wasn't any room for eccentricities and abnormalities- everyone had their strange habits. They seemed to be largely accepting of any vices, in particular. But people knew their limits. And their strengths. And used them accordingly. There was… a system. She liked a system she could study. Regardless of what Ron and Harry thought, she didn't simply follow rules because she was a prude of some sort. She followed them because she liked them. Well, not liked them, exactly, but understood them. Without rules, there wouldn't be society. Without order, every bit of culture and knowledge would be lost. And without the balance of power, order, and rules, advancement would be impossible.

She shook herself out of her revire as people began to stand, dinner obviously finished. With a winning smile, Draco pulled out her chair for her and held out his hand. She smiled back at him, taking it. Some rules were quite pleasant to abide by.

"Now we dance." he said, as she followed him and the throng of guests down the hallway. They emerged into a cavernous room, dimly lit by the row of crystal chandeliers on the ceiling. The paneled cherry wood floor reflected the light, casting a flattering golden glow upon everything and everyone in the room. There were small, green-cushioned alcoves cut into one wall, but the hall was otherwise unfurnished, barring the cherrier painting that dotted the walls. The wall directly opposite that held only windows. Floor to ceiling windows, reflecting etheral images of the dancers as they passed. 

Hermione found herself somewhat short of breath.

"Dance?" she asked, as they waited for the couple in front of them to pair off. Most of the others were far older than they were. 

"Yes, dance. I know you can. I've seen you do it." he said petulantly. "With Neville Longbottom, but that's beside the point."

"But I can't dance like that." she said, gesturing to a waltzing couple nearby. They seemed perfectly in step with one another. How did they do it?

"It's simple." he said, clearly trying to be patient and failing miserably. It just wasn't one of his strong suits. "Just take my hand-" she did, "and let me lead."

Twirling her out onto the dance floor, Draco settled an arm comfortably around Hermione's waist, pressing her body a bit closer to his than she thought was proper. Not that she was complaining, really. She didn't dare pull away- when Draco lead, he _lead_, and she could barely keep up with the intricate steps of the dance as it was. But soon enough, all worries of a misstep melted away. He was, of course, a fabulous dancer, and he actually seemed to be enjoying himself for once.

Hermione did not notice that the other dancers slowed, and eventually stopped, leaving the young couple a fairly wide berth. Soon the waltz was as natural as walking, even breathing. She felt as if she were flying- her skirts swirled around Draco's legs as they danced, making them seem as one. She felt like a ghost in his arms, ephemeral in their bliss.

But it could not last forever, and as the music died, she suddenly became aware of the staring spectators that they had gathered. She couldn't help a furious blush, hiding herself as much behind Draco as humanly possible. He (as usual) did not miss a beat, presenting a flourishing bow with a wry smile, to the approval of his elders. The band struck up again and the other dancers began again. As Hermione was clearly somewhat flustered, he lead her out of the dance hall, stopping just inside the now-empty foyer.

"Well, that wasn't terrible." he laughed, sitting at the bottom of the spiral staircase that led up to the second floor. Hermione blinked.

"Terrible? Oh! You're- you're insufferable, Draco Malfoy." she blustered, her blush returning. He _had_ to know how she'd felt just then- she was quite sure she'd been glowing.

"I get that often." he said dryly, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly.

"Well, you are." she replied quietly, flushing even darker at his touch. He looked at her, curious.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." she said quickly, willing the blush to disappear. However haughty she could act in front of his parents, or Pansy, it was very difficult for her to lie to Draco. 

"You're not _enjoying_ yourself, are you?" he teased, a very superior smile joining his smirk. She glared darkly.

"I don't know how I could be in this sort of company."

"Come now." he said, tipping her chin up gently with a finger. For a mere moment she lost herself in his eyes- and pulled away just as quickly, standing up before another word could be spoken.

"Well, Draco, if you've regained your breath-" he spluttered, but she went on blithely, "I'd like another dance. Would you be so kind?"

A small smile playing at his lips, he stood as well, taking her hand and leading her back into the ballroom. Hermione had never ceased to amaze him. He was beginning to doubt that she ever would. 

            Draco pushed the door to Hermione's room open quietly, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly in his arms. He'd made the necessary introductions, but the day's travel and events had taken their toll on her, and as soon as they'd been out of sight he'd simply picked her up and carried her back, despite her unintelligable protests.  

            He set her down on the bed gently, propping her neck up with a pillow. The body she inhabited was beautiful, true, but he missed seeing the familiar face of Hermione Granger. Even when he'd had to sneak looks disguised as glares during their classes together. She muttered in her sleep, grasping at his arm and pulling him closer to her. Hermione seemed disturbed, and he began to stroke her hair gently, somehow feeling it was the proper thing to do. She calmed down slightly, and he placed her head in his lap, running his fingers through her thick hair. At that, her eyes fluttered open, blinking at the harsh light of the room.

            "Bright…" she mumbled, closing them again. He drew his wand, and pointed it at the light fixture above her door, dimming it significantly. She sighed, and pushed herself upright, much to his disappointment. 

            "Think you can make it?" he asked dryly, pushing her hair out of her face. She glared up at him, though he could tell there was no true anger in her eyes. Not directed at him, anyway. But he wouldn't switch places with the wine cellar for all the world.

"I didn't eat much of anything, thank God."

"Why not?" he demanded, slightly annoyed, but more worried. "That's why you've such a low tolerance for it. Never drink on an empty stomach."

"Or maybe it's because I've never had alcohol before." she half-sneered. He couldn't help but laugh, and she glared even harder.

"Never? Not even with your parents?"

"They're doctors!" she said hotly, setting her hair back into place. "Well, dentists, but it's the same idea. They don't even drink."

"No wonder you're so-"

"So what, Draco?" she asked, her tone clipped. He hesitated to finish his sentence. One of the most powerful young witches in England, with what looked to be the beginnings of a serious hangover was not a person whose buttons he wished to push. She rose up on her knees, trying and failing to reach his height.

"So high and mighty, Draco? Such a know-it-all? So- bookish? Goody-"                  

He cut her off with a kiss, slowly pushing her back onto the bed under him. For the first time that he could remember, she yielded to his lips, welcoming his warm mouth with hers. Their tongues touched lightly as he tangled a hand up into her hair, and he could feel her smile underneath him. After almost a full minute, they stopped for a breath, Draco rolling off of her and laying on his side.

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'pure and virginal', but any of those would do quite nicely." he replied, a smile tugging at his lips. She raised an eyebrow.

"Virginal? I don't think so, young-" she yawned, "Master Malfoy-" and just as she leaned forward to kiss him again, she slumped against his chest, fast asleep. Sighing, he lifted her up off the bed, turning down the sheets with a muttered spell and slipping her under them. With another incantation, the lights turned off and the fire went out, leaving her face illuminated only by moonlight.

"Ah, but I know so." he whispered, brushing his lips across her forehead. "Love.

Finally, huh? There are reasons for this being so late… writer's block, broken laptop, long vacations… but there's really no excuse for putting this off as long as I have. To be honest, I was considering getting out of fanfiction completely- maybe, after this, I still will- but your constant reviews made me realize it was kind of awful to leave this fic unfinished when so many people like it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and continued to review when it looked like there was going to be no more- you guys are the reason that I kept writing this story, and I think you for it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Now be my best friend and visit www.intellectual-evil.org , okay? ^_^

And review!


	12. twelve

_She could not feel._

_She felt trapped, but more than trapped- stifled, asphyxiating on the black emptiness of the air that pressed in around her. The black did not bother her so much as the silence- there was no breath, no wind, only thick, stagnant air  that blocked her from the comfort of sound. Alone and cold, without even the touch of magic to warm her- she could feel nothing._

_Nothing but hunger.___

_Oh, the hunger- it ripped apart her insides, past her once-beating organs to the very depths of her spirit, her soul. Its fire chased away the chill of the abyss, consuming her, her thought, her mind, her conscience, until only the hunger was left, the thirst… the thirst for life, and a life not her own. _

_She would call out, but she could not move. Paralyzed by fear, she knew she was not herself… there was some_ thing_ inside of her, some thing dark and ancient, a great whisper that drowned out even the thirst. It called to her and it spoke as her, all at once. _

_A black wind blew, breaking the silence, pressing the air against her harder, rushing down her throat and straight into the heart of the battle for her consciousness. She tried to move against it, pressing hands to her throat, but they were weak, pale, and against the heat of her body they burst out into ashes- ashes and ashes, dust to dust-_

Eyes snapping open, Hermione Granger lay paralyzed in the bed that was not her own, wrapped up in layers of thick foreign silks, too terrified to breathe. Had she screamed? The small circular room seemed to echo her terror, once welcoming, now a prison, a known prison, a trap.  She did not usually dream (or remember them, to be precise) and she had not had more than a handful of nightmares in her recollection. All had involved Professor Snape, poor test grades, the most recent incarnation of Lord Voldemort, or some combination of the three. 

Slowly, warily, she snaked a hand out from underneath the covers to push some no-longer-thick hair out of her face. Ah. No terrifying winds or ominous voices. No limbs burst into ashes. In fact, she was quite seriously considering moving her other arm when an ominous figure pushed open her door.

Well, he was ominous in the bloody dark.

"Dear Lord. Are you all right?" Draco asked, once he'd convinced himself that she was in no immediate danger by half-heartedly glancing around the room. "I heard you scream. In fact, I'm surprised the entire house didn't hear you scream. Where was that voice when you and Potter were sneaking about after hours?"

"Do stop being such a twit and shut the door, Draco." she replied, thoroughly annoyed. And also rather relieved that she was no longer alone, though she tried her damndest not to show it. "I had a rather strange nightmare, for your information. One that I'm quite sure would have made you scream like a first-year Hufflepuff girl."

"Really?" he asked, casually making himself comfortable at the end of her bed. "How terrible for you."

"Draco!" she glared, surprised at his reaction. He'd been awfully sweet lately- well, as sweet as Draco Malfoy ever got, which was not particularly. Why this? And now?

"I'm not the one who slowly got myself smashed on an empty stomach and went straight to bed. I've never heard of a hangover nightmare, but they do tend to have… unpleasant side effects."

Hermione frowned. It was quite possible… but no. She'd been so sure that it had meant something- she'd never had a dream so vivid, or one so odd. That hunger. And the feeling of being cut off from magic entirely. She hadn't felt it in the room, not like that, though she knew she couldn't touch magic inside. What could it- eyes widening, it struck her, as suddenly as the nightmare had. 

"It's not that, Draco." she said, her voice turning grave. "I spoke to one of your relatives today- a vampire, inside a painting. This room… it was her prison. Cast a spell."

He frowned, still taking in the information, but responded to her command almost automatically, prompting his frown to deepen.

"That's odd, I… can't. Usually I do fairly well with wandless magic- most Malfoys do, they never expect an attack when you're wandless- but I can't do anything at all." Growing frustrated, he sat up to face her. "All right then, what's the trick?"

"Lodestone." she replied, matter of factly. "Also known as magnetite. Muggles use it for its magnetic properties, but it also disrupts the flow of magic, causing a wizard or witch surrounded be it to be cut off from magic completely. This relative of yours was turned, and they locked her up in here when she was about our age. See?"

Pulling him off the bed and trying very hard to ignore the near-transparency of her shift, she pointed out the window that faced the gardens. "There aren't any windows or scaffolding around for her to jump to, and it's far too high to jump down off of. I suspect she was very weak, at any rate- one meal a week doesn't seem like much for a young vampire. I wonder how many-"

"Hermione." Draco said shortly, taking her arm. "Slow down. You spoke to a painting. A painting of a vampire in the Malfoy gallery that you're not even supposed to know exists, who told you that she was bitten and locked up by her family in my mother's old bedroom?"

"Yes." she replied impatiently. "What of it?"

Shaking his head, Draco smiled. "Nothing. You're just terribly cute when you're clever." With that, he resumed his leisurely stretch on her bed, heaving a sigh. "It's nearly four o'clock in the morning, you know. We'll be late for breakfast at this rate."

Bothered that he was ignoring her, Hermione sat down next to him and attempted to loom. "How do you figure? Unless your house is so gargantuan that we won't be able to make it properly downstairs in three hours."

"No, it's not quite that large." he replied, a devilish smirk appearing on his face as he rose to her height. "I just plan very much so on being occupied. Now do shut up about this bloody room and sit still for a moment, won't you?"

            Much to Draco's surprise, she did. And much to Hermione's dismay, he was quite right about being late. 

            Hermione had tried _very_ hard to admonish Ron for teasing his little sister, one terribly rainy Hogwarts afternoon… Harry had been at Quidditch practice, and they had been attempting chess in the common room. Chess between Ron and herself generally ended up in a row one way or another, and this afternoon had been no exception. The youngest Weasley brother had regaled a tale of the previous summer- one where Ginny had made a brilliant spectacle of herself by gaping at Harry and stumbling around the house for nearly two weeks, ending in a particularly amusing episode involving a butter dish and wayward elbow.

            Hermione was beginning to understand how Ginny must have felt.

            Everything at Malfoy Manor was a terribly formal affair. A choice of meals had been presented to her at breakfast, ranging from freshly caught Nova Scotia salmon to a particularly delicate-looking pumpkin pasty disguised with a curious French name. She'd decided on the simplest thing she could imagine: a blueberry scone. 

            Even a blueberry scone was no simple thing at Malfoy Manor.

            The array of marmalades and jams before her was dazzling. It seemed as if every fruit she'd ever heard of- and many that she hadn't- had been freshly distilled into a spread, for the Malfoys didn't seem to eat anything that was packaged or processed. One of their three house elves prepared the scone for her after she'd selected something called 'passion fruit', and carefully arranged a napkin onto her lap. Forgetting herself, she began to thank him, but was cut off by a loud harrumph from Draco.

            "My dear, are you sick?" Narcissa asked, looking at her son with concern as she carefully picked apart the pumpkin pasty. "That's quite a cough."

            "No, mother." he replied, with a  winning smile. "I think it's only my allergy acting up again. I'll take some more of that potion after breakfast."

            "I didn't know you were allergic to anything." Hermione said. Draco smiled sharply.

            "Actually, love, I'm allergic to sunlight." he said through clenched teeth, clearly not pleased at having to reveal his weakness. "Thankfully, my father stumbled across a very ancient potion that repels it.  So I can play Quidditch and all."

            "Hmm." she said quietly, taking a sip of tea. "That must have been an exceedingly useful potion for any vampire that 'stumbled across it.'"

            "Ha!" Lucius exclaimed, looking up from his paper for nearly the first time all morning. "How very astute of you, my girl. That's exactly how I discovered it… you know, the Malfoy family are cousins to the Draculas of Romania."

            "Really!" she smiled, feeling quite as if clammy hands had suddenly taken hold of her internal organs. "Why, that's fascinating. They're one of the most- er, powerful vampiric clans, aren't they?"

            "Yes, indeed. We can't have them over for dinner too often, understand, but soon enough they'll be able to hunt the streets of Hogsmeade with impunity."

'

            "Oh, I can't wait!" Narcissa said, reanimating for a brief moment. "Octavia has a habit of wearing the most intriguing outfits. Always black, though."

            Underneath the table, Hermione grabbed Draco's free hand and held onto it for dear life. The cold feeling inside her body had not subsided in the least. The Draculas! They were the Muggle equivalent of the royal family- not much official power, but more than enough clout to have whatever- and whomever- they wanted. They terrorized Romania, as Viktor had been quick to tell her, and wherever else they could fly to during a few day's time. He said it was something in their blood that allowed them to let their skin see sunlight. Now she knew. 

            Draco coughed again.

            "Well, excuse us, but we ought to head upstairs. I need to take my potion, and get Hermia dressed a bit more properly-" he stood, letting go of her hand at the last possible moment.

            "Oh? I think she looks lovely-" Narcissa began absently.

            "Yes, mother, she always looks lovely, but we'd like to go out riding today. With your permission of course, father." Draco replied, looking over at Lucius, who waved a distracted hand.

            "Of course you can use the horses, Draco. They're as much yours as anyone else's, considering they won't let the rest of us ride them. I hope they take to Hermia." 

            Draco smiled lightly, looking over at Hermione, her hair shining in the sunlight. "I have a feeling that they will."

"Draco, you do realize that I've ridden horses before?" Hermione asked impatiently as he lead her through a particularly prickly bramble thicket. She'd trusted him this far, leading her almost blindly, as it was, but as the path grew less smooth and he grew more eager in dragging her along behind him, she was sorely tempted to peek from underneath the blindfold he'd insisted on wrapping around her eyes.         

            "Of course, of course." he said absently, helping her up over a rock in the path. "Let's hurry, though. They're less temperamental before noon."

            "Look, I realize you're very proud of them, but even a Thoroughbred horse-"

            "They aren't Thoroughbreds." he replied, lifting her up over a fallen tree. The sunlight of the morning felt warm upon her face- they had apparently emerged from the small forest between the manor and the far stabled. She stopped short, crossing her arms underneath her breasts.

            "Draco, this is ridiculous. I'm taking the blindfold off."

            "Give me two minutes, love." he said cheerily, giving her hand one last quick squeeze before darting off.  After stumbling around for a moment or two, she sat down on a rock, deciding to give him a full sixty seconds before removing the blindfold. He returned in thirty, and though she made out his eager footsteps quite clearly in the dew-covered grass, she couldn't hear the sound of hoofbeats.

Slowly, as if to increase the suspense, Draco came around behind her, removing the silk blindfold with a flourish. Hermione spun around almost instantly to admonish him for his immaturity, when she was quite suddenly rendered unable to speak.

            Horses? You could never call them- horses- to do so was an insult, a careless offense that could only be uttered from the mouth of the most vile of Malfoys. They were angels- floating apparitions, crystalline phantoms that no prose and certainly no single word could do justice. A sense of overwhelming wonder overcame her, so much that she felt like a child again, stepping off of the most curious train she'd even seen to be greeted by the magnificent silhouette of Hogwarts.

The manes of the Malfoy Pegasai glistened in the morning sunlight, less pale than they were transparent, cerulean and giving off an entirely unearthly glow. Their hooves glistened silver, wrapped and braided 'round carefully with ribbons of a similar color. Wings of purest white beat idly at the air, feathers tipped with steel blue dye to match the shimmering cobalt of their wide, humanlike eyes.

They were the most beautiful thing that Hermione had ever seen.

            "I knew you'd like them." Draco said quietly, wrapping a gentle arm around her waist. "They're the purest creatures- not particularly intelligent, if beautiful."

            "Draco." she said quietly, enthralled by the sublime grace of the half-horses. "You oughtn't say such things about them. Just because they don't prance around like warhorses trampling everything in their path..."

            He sighed heavily, though the amusement in his voice was easily apparent. "Go on then. The one on the left is mine-"

            "The one on the left?" she asked, turning to face him with a steely glare. He sighed once more.

            "Lucien, then. That's Isendre on your right.  They're mated, of course."

            Hermione approached Isendre slowly, meeting her doe-like blue eyes with the most peaceful resolve she could manage, under the slightly unsettling circumstances. She reached out with a shaky hand to gently touch her braided mane, which Isendre surprisingly tolerated, even nuzzling Hermione's hair lightly in return.

            "How old are they?" she asked breathlessly, hardly turning to look at Draco.

            "No one's really sure." he replied boredly, already preparing to mount Lucien. "My father believes them to be at least five hundred years each- at any rate, they've been around since when my grandfather was young, which is something of an accomplishment."

            Hermione stood for a moment in serene tableau with Isendre, contemplating the sheer wonder of the noble creature before her. How many Malfoys had this angel seen come and go? How many cruel and kind masters, those like Draco and those like his father? If anyone knew of their capacity for good and evil- but could a being of pure good even contemplate evil? She doubted sincerely that the Pegasai were flawed as humans were… suddenly feeling quite painfully aware of her own impurities, she turned to Draco.

            "Do you think she'll allow me to ride her?" she asked. He shrugged.

            "I don't know. Why don't you ask her yourself?"

            Hermione nodded absently, stepping in front of Isendre once again. As she remembered doing with the Hippogriffs what seemed like centuries ago, she bowed her head deeply to Isendre. For a moment the creature seemed to study her, azure eyes piercing through all the layers of Hermione's deception… and she bowed her head in return. Draco grinned.

            "Well, that's as good a consent as any. Get on, will you? We've got thousands of acres of Malfoy land to see, and only a few months in which to do so." Hermione consented, smiling over at him benignly once she had mounted Isendre. 

            "Thank you, Draco." was all she said, placing a light kiss on his cheek and reaching over to take his hand once more. He looked at her, mystified.

            "For what?"

            She only smiled again, as Isendre and Lucien displayed the Pegasai's slightly less famous ability for perfect timing, soaring gracefully off into the morning sun. 

            Isendre and Hermione twirled circles in the air against the milieu of the setting sun, displayed in brilliant oranges, reds, pinks, and a glittering haze of gold. They cut a stark contrast, Hermione in her black riding coat and Isendre's wings of shimmering white. Draco and Lucien hovered idly off to the side, clearly content to watch their mates enjoy the new beauty and new wonder of a newfound friendship. Hermione laughed gaily and Isendre whinnied in return as they flew in circles, creating delicate patterns against the fiery backdrop.

            Though Draco was quite hesitant to put a halt to the stunning spectacle, he called out to Hermione, guiding Lucien closer towards the pair.

            "Hermione, we ought to be going inside." he said, a hint of worry coloring his tone. Isendre turned towards him, and Hermione laughed haughtily.

            "Why on Earth, Draco? I feel like I could stay upon Isendre forever-"

            "As well you could… but this land is dangerous at night. Not all of the extended Malfoy Family is as benevolent as these two."

            "Don't be silly." she replied, as Isendre took her for another few loops. Neighing playfully, it seemed almost as if she was trying to encircle the sun. "What could possibly harm us up here? Only a few more minutes. Just until the sun goes down."

            Against his better judgment, Draco retreated. He sighed, and stroked Lucien's neck lightly, whispering into his ear.

            "Don't worry. They'll come to their senses soon enough, I'm sure- at least Isendre knows how dangerous the forest after dark." Lucien neighed softly in approval, watching Isendre and Hermione intently.  

            When the aforementioned few minutes had passed and the sun was sinking lower into the sky, Draco approached Hermione again, the urgency in this voice clear even to Isendre, who started slightly. "Come now. Sunset perhaps I can handle, but we cannot stay when it's dark. We can visit Isendre and Lucien tomorrow. And the day after that, if you'd like."

            Hermione all but glowered at Draco, though she and Isendre reluctantly followed Lucien in the direction of the manor. But while the vast expanse of the Malfoy estate was bathed in the brilliant blood-red glow of the setting sun, Lucien stopped short, twirling around to stare in the opposite direction. Draco had to hold on very tightly to Lucien's mane to keep from falling. 

            "What is it, Lucien?" he asked. Isendre flew towards her mate, whinnying softly. Lucien brayed in response, kicking his heels up in the direction of the sun. Draco watched for a moment, finally able to make out the increasingly large black dots in the distance. 

"Draco?" asked Hermione, growing worried.

"My- what are they?" he whispered, staring off into the distance just behind her shoulder. She turned to look, her eyes growing wide with fear.

"I don't know." she replied. "But they're large- and approaching very fast. Perhaps we ought to pick up the pace?"

But just as Hermione finished speaking, Isendre turned sharply as well, facing in the same direction as Lucien. Draco began whispering to Lucien once more, but the pegasus refused to move, rooted to the spot as if steeling himself for battle. Draco picked up on this quickly, reaching into the folds of his robes.

"Wand out, Hermione. I have a feeling-"

He was cut off abruptly as the creatures came into view, accompanied by a series of intensely piercing shrieks. They were entirely black- seeming almost as holes in light itself rather than breathing beings. Lucien brayed loudly, and Isendre did the same as the creatures extended their massive wings, shading the sun almost entirely from view. 

They were bats- enormous bats, but more than bats for their size and apparent strength. The beating of their great wings created an icy wind, blowing the seemingly fragile pegasai back a few feet, and nearly causing Hermione to fall. She threw her arms around Isendre's neck, pointing her wand in the direction of the bats.

"They're vampire bats!" Draco shouted to her, staying low on Lucien. "Use _Incendium Incarne- it's the only way to kill them!"_

"Draco, that's black magic!" Hermione shouted back, holding Isendre tighter to her. It was very black magic, in fact- used only in the first of the wizarding wars, when it was still important for pride's sake that one's enemy be reduced entirely to ash. 

"Hermione, you have to! They're not human!"

"That doesn't matter-" she began, though was cut off by a quick constriction in her throat as Draco raised his wand, shouting in a clear baritone- 

"_Incendium Incarne!" _

She watched in horror as a bat flying dangerously near to her burst spectacularly into flame. It was a dreadful way to die, a sentiment echoed by the high-pitched shriek its comrades emitted upon fiery destruction. They seemed to all be focusing in on Draco and Lucien now, as the latter raised his hooves in preparation for battle. It happened so quickly and yet so slowly- Hermione could _not_ stand idly by as Draco was drained of life, drained of blood as she'd dreamed of Carden doing a thousand times- and, at any rate, Isendre most certainly would not have it, beating her wings furiously in attempt to rescue her beloved. 

Draco was destroying the creatures as quickly as he could, but there quite simply were too many of them- and in a moment of startling clarity, Hermione raised her wand and spoke two simple words, unfamiliar words that slipped so clearly off of her tongue that you would have thought she'd killed in cold blood a thousand times. 

More screams broke out as Hermione and Isendre joined the fray, the pegasai biting and kicking for all they could, while working feverishly to avoid being bitten by the glistening fangs of the vampire bats. 

But bloodlust was no match for love. True love, the ferverent love of equals and friends, soul-mates of the highest order. The time honored love of the most sacred of creatures, and the heat forged bond of the ever-tragic lovers. Nothing could defeat twin fires, the ever burning flame of righteousness and desperation- without you, I am nothing, said every fatal kick and every wrathful scream. Without you, I am less than nothing- and cornered creatures fight for life with peerless strength. Threatened with death, we almost always fight- but, threatened with the death of those we love, we fight and win. 

Lucien and Draco were trapped by seven vampire bats, spreading their wings wide to form a death-black prison. Draco's wand arm had been slashed and he was bleeding profusely, barely able to raise it, as Lucien kicked with all his might at the bloodthirsty creatures struggling for position blow him. But, in a flash of righteous fire, light pierced the darkness of their black winged cage. Hermione, eyes burning with fury, hair lit up fire red against the fading glow of the sunset, screamed the ancient spell with such force that the remaining creatures flew off, terrified, into the oncoming twilight. 

Isendre nuzzled a bloodstained Lucien lightly, and Draco looked up from his wound to Hermione. All the light had gone out of her eyes- she seemed faint, most likely from the draining effects of the magic she'd used. Pitching his voice softly, he called out to her.

"Hermione… let's go back to the stables. There's somewhere we can sleep there. I told my parents we might be out for the night."

She made no reply, but Isendre followed Lucien once more as they made their way back towards a safe haven. Their journey was a short one- if only he'd been more firm. If only- if only he could have kept her from danger as he promised himself he would do. Protect his gloriously pure Gryffindor girl from having to harm or be harmed- until she chose to do so of her own accord. 

They dismounted the pegasai in silence, though Hermione seemed very reluctant to part from Isendre. Draco tugged lightly on Lucien's mane in a familiar gesture, and Lucien whinnied once more before flying up into the sky, hovering just above before Isendre joined him, and they faded out into the moonlight. 

Draco took Hermione's hand once more, though it felt limp in his. He led her towards the house by the stables, a small retreat his mother had commissioned when he was a child so she could keep an eye on him during riding lessons. It wasn't that Narcissa was particularly overprotective- but (at that time, anyway) she had enjoyed any spare moment away from Lucius.  

  
            They climbed the marble staircase together, and Draco led her to the sole bedroom, guiding her over to the fainting couch and helping her to sit.

"Let me see where you've been cut." he said gently, taking her hand in his. She allowed a hint of a pained smile to show.

"Where _I've been cut? You're bleeding far worse than I." her voice was thick with emotion, and he moved closer, barely curbing the impulse to hold her to him. _

"And I've bled many times before. Where are you hurt?"

Looking at him with partial amusement, she lifted her shirt up halfway and turned, revealing a large, bloody gash spanning the length of her back. Draco winced, then ripped off a strip of bed sheet to bind the wound. She hissed softly as the rough linen touched it, but bravely bit down on her lower lip to keep from screaming. 

Giving her a moment to adjust to the pain, Draco touched her shoulder gently, pouring all of his empathy into the simplest of caresses. That was when she could not keep from crying. That was when he could hold back no longer- he gathered her in his arms, holding her as tightly as what felt like a broken rib would allow. 

They did not speak. They only held each other, silhouetted by the pale moonlight.

-------------

I finally wrote something! So, feel free to stop with the death threats, kids… at least for a while. This chapter was impossible to get out- but I made it a bit longer than usual (or I think I did), and I really think it's my best one yet, so hopefully it's worth it. I owe this semi-timely update to the most recent rash of reviewers in late July- no clue where you guys came from, but thanks for granting me a very happy sweet sixteen, and also a fair bit of inspiration. 

I'd like to take a moment to thank some old and frequent reviewers: Hermy-own-ninny, Trinity Day, heavengurl899, Lady Guinevere of Northgalis, josh, blood thirsty, VenusDeMilo, RedhotNYchick, Draco'sgurl, Katana47, Kearie, JDPhoenix, Icy Stormz, EvilGeniusSmurf, and to anyone I forgot I owe you a sneak peek of my newest project… I can't say this enough, reviews are what keep me writing. Period. Thanks to all of you who have ever written me a review with constructive criticism (by far the best!) and or one that's over a few sentences long… I don't have a beta right now, so you guys are all that I have.

On a similar note, if anyone's interested in being my beta/sounding board/new best friend ;) drop me a line at my (NOTE!) new email address, a_arsenic@hotmail. 

PS. For all of you who I'm sure were about to ask… yes, the Little White Horse left a very deep impression upon me as a child, and most of this chapter was written to Beethoven's 6th. Ciao!


	13. thirteen

If you're having formatting issues, go to my livejournal in my author profile. For some reason, it won't format properly on my mac.

It was beautiful to wake up to him.

His skin was like parchment, absorbing light as warmly as shadow, shaded golden and pale in the morning sun. Draco lay sprawled across the windowseat, uncommonly mussed blonde hair hiding blue eyes. It cut short just below his cheekbones, fine and transparent as the mane of the Pegasai. The clothes he wore were torn and dirty; she couldn't bring herself to mind. Fine, white, summer linen torn to shreds- she cared not at all.

She felt at once elated and terrified, trapped and rejected. Contemptible, unworthy; not fit for him, or for this. She felt like a painter, gazing upon a subject- a poet, a muse. Maybe something like a wife.

It was far too early in the morning for thinking.

Hermione rose from the bed, draping cream-coloured sheets about her shoulders, and walked to the mirror on the far wall, the light of the morning illuminating her auburn hair behind her face. She breathed. The potion was starting to wear off. She had more. She ought to take some before Draco woke.

But her face was familiar. Familiar in a place where nothing was, her feelings and least of all herself. She pressed a hand to the warm glass and closed her eyes; she imagined she was anywhere, Scotland perhaps, in safety and relative comfort. With her friends, her family. Yet the fantasy was less than desirable, as there was something missing.

Him.

Reaching into the day bag he had thought wisely to pack, she swallowed Snape's bitter concoction once more, throat burning. With that, she turned back to the bed to find Draco sprawled out upon it with an insufferable smirk upon his face.

"Morning."

Just like him to ruin a perfectly good picture. Shaking her head, she sat primly on the edge of the bed, checking in the mirror to make sure that the potion had worked to the same effect as it always did. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Draco snorted.

"Vain thing, aren't you?"

"You're one to talk," she retorted, defiantly tidying up her hair. He yawned, stretching his limbs out languorously upon the bed. She had to fight very hard to resist the urge to join him.

"Oh, dear God," he said suddenly, sitting up in the bed like a shot. She frowned, turning to face him.

"What?"

"The garden party." Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"The what?"

"Blaise Zabini," he said, throwing the sheets off the bed and rushing over to the dresser on the far side of the room, "is throwing a garden party. She specifically requested our presence."

"And?"

"It started half an hour ago."

Hermione stood, walking over to get a better view of Draco frantically tossing clothing out of drawers with no visible rhyme or reason. Apparently, tending to their respective wounds paled in comparison to selecting an appropriate outfit for a society function. "And why can't we arrive fashionably late?"

"Don't be a fool. She's expecting the Dark Lord."

Hermione blanched, feeling suddenly quite as if her stomach had dropped down to the floor.

"At a garden party?"

"What, did you think our gatherings were held in damp dungeons spattered with the fresh blood of Muggle virgins? Really."

"Well, how are we supposed to get there?" she asked, crossing her arms. To Hermione, it seemed a better idea not to go at all then to go late& surely Draco could think up some sort of excuse. This desire had nothing at all, of course, to do with the the pure terror that struck her when she thought of this final test of her disguise- one she had not in any way been prepared for by Professor Snape.

"We'll have to take the horses."

"Pegasai," she corrected automatically. "Oh- what?"

"It's risky in broad daylight, but the Zabini's aren't far and we'll be traveling over wizarding territory."

"Are you mad? Flying off your grounds on winged horses? That violates nearly every single clause and sub-clause of the Muggle Protection Act-"

He grabbed her wrist to shut her up, which had been shaking a finger at him in an unsurprisingly Minerva McGongagall-like manner.

"I live dangerously. Now get dressed."

----------------

There was nothing in the world quite like a crumpet with strawberry jam. The delicate, powder-like texture of the pastry melting in the mouth of the diner and the sweet, smooth, slightly fruity and cold sensation of the strawberry preserve combined approached, reached, and surpassed culinary perfection. Crumpets with jam cured all ills. Crumpets with jam could keep her sane through Azkaban.

Which was why Hermione was particularly disappointed that everything she'd put in her mouth for the past forty minutes had tasted like ash.

Nothing too terrible had happened yet. The other guests had taken their late if fashionable arrival in good humor, excepting, of course, Draco's father, who had dragged him off for a presumable talking to. Which left her alone by the porch swing, watching Pansy fawn all over Alec through the trellis. It was sickening, really- to have the nerve to be caught in a betrayal, and then to continue acting as if she somehow cared for the boy. It was a convincing show, to be sure; if Hermione didn't know better, she'd say the two were truly falling in love. But how on earth could you betray someone you loved and look them in the eye like that? Another discomforting Slytherin mystery.

"Hermia!"

She'd been spotted. Alec and Pansy were making their way over to her, hands clasped tightly together. She felt fully as if she might vomit, a sentiment she suspected had little to do with the copious amounts of blood she'd lost last night. If there was anything to be said for life at Malfoy Manor, there were certainly few dull moments.

"Hello. Lovely party, isn't it?" she said by way of greeting as they joined her on the porch. Pansy laughed, separating from Alec and leaning in a bit closer to whisper in her ear. Hermione felt vaguely repulsed.

"If you ask me, I think it's terribly boring. Trust Blaise to depend on the Dark Lord to come through with the excitement. Wouldn't it be rich if he never showed?"

This, at least, Hermione wholeheartedly agreed with. Alec, oblivious to their assessment of his sister's entertaining faculties, smiled widely.

"Look at the two of you, gossiping like schoolgirls. You think you'd known each other all your lives."

Pansy beamed at Hermia, taking her gloved hand in hers. "Oh, and I feel as if I have! You and Draco simply must join us in London this weekend, Hermia. There's all sorts of fabulous parties to be had, and we may even attend the opera."

Alec looked wholly unenthusiastic at that, though the fondness in his eyes when he looked at Pansy was unmistakable. The raging kettle inside Hermione boiled over. Enough was enough.

"Pansy, may I speak to you alone for a moment? You'll pardon us, Alec. Girl things, of course."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Alec replied, waving them off. Her hand still in Pansy's, Hermione led the girl to the other side of the porch and sat her down on a swing hidden behind a curtain of hanging ivy.

"What are you playing at, Pansy?" she asked furiously, unable to contain herself. "I saw you with that man- if you want to play about with older men, fine, but how can you lead Alec on so? It's cruel!"

Pansy looked taken aback. "Hermia, what on earth are you talking about? Older man? I've barely spoken to any men but Draco since Alec and I have been together. Are you sure you aren't speaking of my butler? He accompanies me out at times..."

"Unless your butler was shoving his tongue down your throat in the basement of the Manor, no," she spat. Pansy looked furious, and as genuinely insulted as any innocent party would be. But Hermione had seen her. And she'd spoken back to her!

"Honestly, I don't understand how you can be so insulting! These accusations, and your- your crude language. I thought you a girl of better manners." With that, Pansy stood, looking quite as if she might walk out at any moment. Hermione sighed. She supposed there was no good end to this sort of conversation, but to deny it all?

"Who was he, Pansy? Come, don't play games with me."

"I don't know who or what you're talking about," the older girl replied through clenched teeth. "I got a bit lost on the way to the bathroom, you know how it is wandering about those corridors."

"So you tripped, stumbled into a dark closet and fell on his lips?"

"No! I spent a bit more time than I thought I would looking for the loo, found it, and puzzled my way back upstairs. You know you can't apparate into or around the manor unless you've Malfoy blood."

"Pansy, are you sure? There's no need to lie to me, you know, I won't tell Alec, however cruel I think-"

"Of course I'm sure! Like I'd forget all about a snog with some stranger I don't know while my boyfriend was a few floors off?"

Hermione frowned, the spinning wheels in her head plain to even Pansy. Forget all about it? Was it possible that there'd been some sort of memory charm involved? Even the imperious curse?

"Pansy," she began, guiding the other girl back to the bench, "can you remember anything odd from that night? Did you feel out of sorts at all before you joined us upstairs?"

"I suppose I did feel a bit out of sorts, at that. I figured it was just nerves, you know? Being with Alec and all." At that, she cast a wistful glance in her boyfriend's direction, who, to be honest, looked a bit lost without her. Hermione sighed. Clearly there was much more to this than she'd first imagined.

"I must have mistaken you for someone, Pansy. I'm terribly, terribly sorry... you will forgive me, won't you?"

Pansy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Of course I will. You've made this summer a thousand times more enjoyable in merely a week, and I'd hate to lose you over some ridiculous slight. You will come over soon, won't you? Or perhaps take us up on London?"

"I'll ask Draco," Hermione promised, without thinking. Pansy grinned, squeezed her hand tightly once more, and left to join Alec. Hermione's frown returned as soon as she was out of sight. Ask Draco? Since when did she have to ask Draco Malfoy for anything? As she recalled it, he'd begged her for this summer... as much as he'd ever begged anyone for anything, at any rate.

"Have a nice chat?" asked the man in question, jauntily vaulting himself over the low porch bannister to join her by the swing. He cut quite the figure in his finely tailored white oxford and navy blazer- complete with Malfoy crest- slung nonchalantly over one shoulder. With a roguish kick, he started the thing swinging, and looked down at her with an expression of deep amusement.

She had to try very hard to look cross with him.

"I thought I was in for it with father, but all he wanted was a talk about the Proper Way to treat Proper Girls from Proper bloody Families. And, can you believe, he said we're welcome to use the stable house whenever we wish! To get away from it all, he said. At our leisure. Old man's gone soft with age."

Hermione held up a hand before he could continue, cursing the smile that tugged on the edges of her lips. There was serious business at hand... far more serious than, say, pulling him off behind the house and snogging him breathless. Honestly.

"Draco, there's something I need to tell you," she said, looking pointedly at the empty space on the swing. He took it obediently, steadying the thing before turning to face her.

"What is it?" he asked. And while she hated dearly to break his good mood, she related the story of what she'd seen and the conversation she'd had with Pansy. After she finished, he paused for a moment, eyes glazing over with what she'd come to recognize as concern.

"What did he look like?"

"He was... he was tall, and pale, and had dark hair, and- well, he was quite old," she finished lamely. "He looked familiar, but I can't imagine where I've seen him. To be honest, I can't remember much."

"It's odd. Pansy wouldn't act that way in a thousand years. I know you think Slytherins are capable of anything, but she's a proper girl, Hermione, I swear it-"

"I know," she interrupted, meeting his eyes as she took his hands in hers. "I like her. And I- I think I'm beginning to understand. What you meant, you know, when you said that- we weren't so very different."

And then his eyes were warm again, and sparkling, and he was fiercely pressing his lips to hers with no trepidation at all. She felt the change, and in all things earthly and bright it was a shattering of universes. He kissed her like he belonged there, kissing her, like if anyone should see them they ought feel no shame. As if, when the glamour came down- and it would, she knew, someday- they would still be. Each with the other, Hermione and Draco and all those other useless names they'd called each other... Slytherin, mudblood, Granger, ferret. A rose by any other was still a rose, and this one just so happened to be hers.

Hermione pulled away with a shy smile, and Draco snuck a furtive glance back at the other patrons of the party, as if suspicious they could somehow tell. She laughed and stood, dropping one of his hands and pulling him to his feet by the other. He, as if responding in kind, spun her about by the waist until they were just at the top of the stairway to the lawn, and she was quite eerily reminded of her first entrance into a crowd as such. Her companion held out his arm. She took it.

And that was when everything went to hell.

-------

The young couple descended into the party with much grace and aplomb, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy beaming all the while. Draco waved hello to a rather sour-looking Petra Parkinson, and Hermione followed suit. It felt good, she decided, even such a simple little gesture. They were doing it together. She didn't feel as if she were tagging along, or compelled to join, or supporting, supporting, always bloody supporting someone. Hermione Granger was here at a party with Draco Malfoy and yes, he was hers, and yes, she belonged here, and of course she was staying with the Malfoys and they were absolutely delighted to have her. And nothing else mattered but that, just this once. Not what they thought her name was or what they thought she looked like or the fact that she actually enjoyed speaking to Lucius Malfoy when he wasn't glaring down his nose at her, hidden behind Harry Potter and a gaggle of Weasleys.

A gaggle of Weasleys?

Hermione shook her head, pulling Draco's arm a little closer. The stares were a bit intimidating to be sure, as if at any moment one would look right through the skin that covered her and see a clever little mudblood inside. It was odd, this feeling of being someone else entirely- and she, not for the first time, quite deeply regretted Millicent Bulstrode's unabiding love for her cat. Sensing her discomfort, Draco put a hand over hers, drawing them closer to a circle that was beginning to form around what looked like a fountain. An impossibly smug Blaise Zabini lorded over it, dispensing glares and smiles wherever she felt they were deserved. She was a lovely girl, but cold, eminently cold; she looked at Hermione and she shrunk back a bit, before remembering who exactly she was supposed to be.

Deftly, Draco maneuver them into position next to Alec and Pansy, the former who greeted them with a wide grin. Pansy's was more tight-lipped, though, Hermione sensed, and not for lack of pleasure at seeing them. Something was about to happen. If only they'd stayed back a little further, she could have asked him what was going on. Draco met her eyes, and she was utterly shocked to see fear in them. What on Earth could make him so afraid?

"Honored guests!" Blaise called, her throaty voice amplified so it echoed across the lawn. "Servants of the Dark Lord, assemble, if you would."

They did, and Hermione was shocked to note that the press of bodies was not all that different from that of any busy Diagon Alley crowd. All pretenses at politeness had been shunted aside. Something very serious was going to happen, and they all wanted desperately to be a part of it.

Eyes sparkling with delight, Blaise whispered a short phrase in French in the direction of fountain, which sunk into the ground with an ominous groan. In its place rose an enormous black stone sphere, glinting in the noonday sunlight. Hermione had to stifle an ill-timed hysterical giggle. The combination of terror and excitement was doing quite a number on her nerves. A black crystal ball? What on Earth was the point of that?

"What is it?" she whispered, sure her alter ego would ask much the same question. Draco didn't look at her, but responded under his breath.

"It's a viewing device."

"To view what?" she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

"Him."

The sphere rose a bit higher before shuddering to an abrupt halt. Blaise jumped a little, and Hermione allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Even she felt, apparently. An older man, who she assumed was Blaise's father, took her arm and helped her down from the platform, guiding her to a place not far from where Hermione, Draco, Alec and Pansy were standing. He looked significantly at Alec, who looked distinctly unhappy.

"Death Eaters," hissed a voice from the sphere, and instantly all attention was riveted on the device. "Those loyal and disloyal to me."

No one spoke. No one moved. Hermione barely even breathed. Draco was holding on to her hand for dear life, and she his.

"The time for gathering our strength is over. Through the blood of the Potter boy and the help of a few... acolytes, I am as strong now as I ever was!"

A cheer went up at that. Hermione was stunned. Their voices sounded almost bloodthirsty, and the look in their eyes was one of blind devotion. How could such evil inspire such fervor?

"I have enlisted the aid of a being that is nearly as powerful as I. He shall aid you in taking measures against the boy, while I prepare to take the Ministry. There, I shall install one among you as Minister," Lucius Malfoy looked overjoyed, "and we shall purge our world of the unclean!"

Another cheer. Hermione felt faint.

"He is among you now. Obey him as you would me."

The sphere lumbered back into the Earth, and a man stepped out from the crowd, climbing up easily on the dais. Hermione's breath caught in her throat- it was the man she'd seen with Pansy, the one who'd spilled the wine all over her dress. A being of great power? What on earth? She met Draco's eyes, and he nodded to show he understood.

Hermione's mind worked furiously. Why on Earth would Voldemort pass off his duty to someone else? He hated Harry, didn't he? Did he fear he couldn't handle it? Harry had defeated him before, after all... six times, now, was it? How many more would there be before Voldemort couldn't return? But he was the most powerful dark wizard; what else on Earth could honestly be more powerful? Was he a dark creature of some sort? A demon? A spirit? A werewolf?

"A vampire," hissed Draco, his eyes never leaving the dais.

It all fell into place. Adrian Alston- the familiarity in his features, the surety of his walk, his age, his looks, his blood-

She was looking at Carden's cousin.

------------------------

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I have a college application due in five hours and I finished a chapter after months and months. Yay procrastination!

I meant for this to be longer. And better. Here's hoping you aren't too terribly disappointed.

As some people have pointed out, a certain suspension of disbelief is required to really get into this story. Yes, Malfoy Manor might have some sort of anti-mudblood ward on it, yes Lucius Malfoy might be more suspicious, yes Pansy Parkinson might be a great deal less thick and well-intentioned and yes, canon Draco would never kiss canon Hermione, and if he did, she'd knock his block off. However. This is a story, darlings! In which the Malfoys are loving parents, Slytherins are human beings, Draco is painfully lonely at the top, and Hermione Granger has a crush on the most attractive boy in school, whom she knows now to be quite intelligent. Not so insane, I think.

For the record, the party scene in this was a i nightmare /i to write. Absolutely impossible. And for those of you who were curious about my age, I turned seventeen on the eighteenth. Yay me!

And now for responses:

A lot of people have commented on how I haven't really gotten into Draco and Hermione's heads very much, which surprised me... I thought everyone would get bored of a romance where nothing actually happened, so I endeavored to show rather than tell. Looking back, that hasn't worked out as I wished it would, so I'm going to be (surprise!) editing previous chapters once more.

**LadyElladania:** Draco was referring to summer the season, not summer the portion of the school year that all of us boarding school-ers love and loathe. The first few chapters are indeed, in school. You're probably quite right about the OWLS- I have to say, in terms of my canon accuracy (such as the dates of birthdays and such which has gotten me in deep trouble before grin) I've never paid as much attention as I ought to.

**natyslacks:** Thanks for such an extensive review! To answer your most pertinent question, yes, the portrait will be further involved. How so, I'll wait to reveal, but I have to add a plot in somewhere, don't I?

**MsLessa:** Having a chance to lovingly portray upper-class wizarding society is actually one of my favorite parts about this fic! Bravo for picking up on it. I've been forced into going to too many dreadful garden parties myself not to know why Draco's so very snappish during the school year.

**mutsumi:** Yes, she is acting a bit 'out of character'... in the sense that she's playing another and she rather likes it. I'll try to get into that a little more in the context of the story, but I hope it doesn't trouble you too much until then.

**Hermy-own-ninny:** Ha! It took me forever to get that bloody paragraph the way I wanted it. I'm terribly pleased you liked it so much.

**RelenaS:** Dumb, dutiful, and hormonally impaired. cackles No, honestly. I suppose there's an inkling, but nothing irks me more than a fic in which people say "I love you" in the second chapter. Not the way it works, even for crazy lust-blinded teenagers.

Once again, thank you thank you i thank you /i everyone for your reviews! They are honestly the only thing that keep me on the ball. I tried to only respond to those who asked questions, but there a special place in my heart for anyone who writes a review that's over one sentence long.

Also, if you've got a moment, check out a " Iron and Wine /a , another bit of D/Hr I did for a Draco/Hermione challenge. And (woohoo, plug!) a " Laissez Faire /A . It's not particularly shippy, but it's Ginnyfic and triofic and something I'm rather proud of.

Finally: if anyone else is waiting for this chapter who doesn't have me on an Author Alert, could you be dears and notify them? Though it may not seem as such, I hate the idea of keeping people waiting.


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